The Flames Of Justice
by BK Flasherman
Summary: The Fire Guardian has returned. With some new faces, and old faces, helping and hindering him, will he achieve what he wants? Rated M for mature language and adult situations. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

_**The Flames Of Justice**_

_**Foreword:**_

_I owe a huge debt of thanks to various people with this story. I'll try to keep the list brief, but concise:_

_Firstly, Weasel and Stasis, for keeping me entertained in the public forums. Many a day has passed by when I've found myself 'chasing' Weasel's replies to various posts I've made, and each one has been fun._

_Jacqueline and DreamWeaver, for being…random._

_GForce and Krunch, for sharing their various ideas, opinions, etc._

_Rae, Annie, and Anne-Marie for being my test bunnies._

_And….last but not least…DarkRose, Hoplite, Ravenswing, FFM, ShadowGhost, Ashtoreth, MarvinKosh, and, of course, Wordmaker and Zortel. All of those guys and gals posted their opinions on how to get out of a Superhero slump, but Wordmaker and Big Z not only did this with enthusiasm, they deserve medals for putting up with me whilst drunk._

_Guys, without your help, there'd be no sequel, and probably no Fire Guardian wandering around Paragon today, and for that, I thank you._

_This story is for a woman I'll always love, and always miss. Where-ever she is, I know I'll always be with her, because she's always with me. This story is for C._

_-_

_Forget all you've learned. The new day dawns here._

_**Prologue**_

_**(Now)**_

_The masked and armoured man stood in the rain, looking down upon Paragon. Despite the stillness of twilight masking the world below his feet, the lights from cars and small buildings illuminated the roads far below him. He felt almost…peaceful. Tranquil, as the world passed him by. In all the years he had been hiding in the shadows, trying to make the world a better place for all humanity, one man had consistently, and continuously, stopped him._

_The masked man shook his head, clearing raindrops from the visor of his yellow lab goggles, allowing him to see properly, and he kept his focus straight down. He had spent years watching over his shoulder, but he no longer needed to do that. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the man whom he had hunted, and been hunted by, was standing behind him. The revolvers' metal hammer clicking back into place, ready to fire, had told him as much. _

'It's strange._' He mused to himself_. 'After all this time, this is how I die. All my battles, all my plans…shot in the back of the head by a man I thought I knew'.

_There would be no last minute rescues this time. No faked bodies, or identity switches. Nothing to stop his death. _

_His opponent had amassed a figurative army of followers, each of them ready to do his bidding. He had more money than Croesus, the outward appearance of a benevolent, kind man, and the internal savagery of a beast._

"Are you ready to die, yet?"_ The man behind him asked._

"Just…give me a minute."_ He pleaded with his old friend…his confidante…his assassin._

"Take your time."_ His murderer muttered. _"I've got all night."

_Jason Tucker and Michael Anson stood atop that skyscraper, in the rain, on a dark, moonlit night in Paragon, and both of them knew that only one would be walking away. They knew this, not because of a pointed gun, but because they know they are merely actors, playing out a scene. Pawns in the chessboard of life, competing against each other, measuring the moves the other makes._

_White and black._

_Light and dark._

_Right and wrong._

_Jekyll & Hyde._

_Good and evil._

_The first war ever fought, and the last. The only war waged. Tonight, however, for these two men, captive and captor, victim and murderer, it will end._

_This is how._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter One**_

**_(Two Years Ago)_**

Detective Cara Wilks slammed her phone down in disgust. _The war's over'_ she scowled to herself. _Why won't these bastards let go?'_

Wilks had been working for months on a case which, she was sure, would throw open the floodgates on organised crime. However, just before she could petition a judge for a warrant a Hero had flown in and arrested all the criminals. Now they were locked up, they refused to talk about anything, letting their boss, a criminal called Anthony Mitchell, free.

Six months. Half a year of careful planning, research, talking to informants, and enough paperwork to explain the decline of the rainforests, all blown to shreds because of one Hero. Cara sighed, and span on her chair, to face the man using the desk opposite her.

"Hey, Regetti!" She tried to smile. "Why does the city even keep us on payroll? We're not needed anymore."

Her partner shrugged into his newspaper, never turning to face her. "We're always needed, Wilks, you know that." He held up his paper, and showed her the headline.

_**First Annual Worldwide Lottery – One Winner!**_

"You see this? Lucky guy. It says here the guy won about $105 billion. Man, what I wouldn't give for that kind of cash."

Cara sighed, and chose to ignore him. "Sure, if they want to demote us to beat cops, that's when they'll need us. Or maybe garbage-men." She sighed, and bit the end of a pencil absently. "I wonder if I could transfer to traffic duty."

Regetti snorted. "Sure, I'm guessing they'd love an OC Detective on their payroll, busting parking violations instead of making them." He finally turned to face her, a stick of jerky in his hand. "Just ask them to dock your salary for the money you owe them for double parking."

Cara leaned down, and took a strip of the dried meat from her partner's desk, munching on it slowly.

"You'd miss my ugly face, Regetti, admit it."

"Sure, I'd miss risking my life every time I go out."

"That's part of the job."

Regetti grinned around a mouthful of dried beef. "I won't get a 21 gun salute for dying because you can't drive, Wilks."

It was an old game between them, sparked up for the fact that Regetti, although ten years her senior, still couldn't drive. Before Cara could retort, however, Regetti's phone rang. Reaching forward and picking it up in one smooth movement, he listened carefully, only replying with the "Yes", "Sure", and "Uh-huh's" that peppered his usual speech, carefully writing notes in a small pad he kept on his desk. After a minute, he hung up the phone, and ripped the paper free of the jotter pad.

"We got something."

"Oh? Let me guess, another Hero needs someone to clean up after them?"

"If we want Mitchell, we've got him."

Anthony Mitchell. War profiteer, drug runner, murderer, rapist. You name it; Mitchell had been a part of it. Always hiding his acts behind a veneer of propriety, Mitchell had started off life well, by earning his law degree, and took an interest in politics. However, the more he progressed through life, the more disillusioned, and poisoned, he had become by it. He had made a name for himself as a criminal defence lawyer…a good one, by all accounts. Then, as the years went by, he started following in his clients' footsteps, until, one day, there was no difference between himself and various members of The Family he defended. Always immaculately dressed, well spoken, and handsome, Mitchell was the poster boy for organised crime. There were rumours that Mitchell had, in the past year, undergone plastic surgery, but the low visibility in recent months made it hard to prove.

Cara wanted…no, _needed_, to take him down. To show the world his true activities, and to have him locked away in a small cell, for the rest of his life.

She gazed at her partner. "Where is he?"

"On the South Side of Talos. Small warehouse owned by one of his fronts. He won't be there long, though. My contact says that he's booked a plane ticket, and is flying out tonight."

Cara frowned. "Flying out? Where to?"

"I dunno, do I?"

She sighed, and stood, grabbing her worn leather jacket from the backrest of her chair. "I'll be there in 20 minutes."

"Woah, woah!" Regetti geld his hands up. "Don't you mean _we_?"

"Reg," She said, as kindly as she could. "You're in no shape to take on Mitchell's thugs."

She put it as nicely as she could, but Regetti knew what she meant. He was far from the young, slender, and muscular man he had once been. He sighed. "At least take some back-up."

"I've got my ankle holster on, I'll be fine."

"Cara, I meant _real_ back-up. Take some of the guys with you, maybe some uniforms.…"

"No, Reg! I want this guy. If tonight's my last chance of nailing the creep, I'd better go now."

Regetti sighed, and gestured towards the door. "Good luck, Wilks."

"'_Good Luck', he says"_ Cara thought to herself, as her car pulled into a car park, across the road from Mitchell's warehouse_. "I don't need luck, I'm a damn good detective. Although," _a frown passed over her face momentarily_, "It's nice to have a guy who isn't a relative care about what happens to me."_

Studying the warehouse for a few minutes, Cara spotted an open door, with nobody guarding it.

"My lucky break." She muttered, getting out of the car, and drawing her weapon. Casting glances all around her, she made her way inside, gun straight out, but pointed across her body and downwards.

"_So far so good."_ She mused, before opening up another door just a crack…

"_There."_

Anthony Mitchell, recognisable as ever in his silk suit, with his back to her, sitting at a desk on the phone. Unable to make out what he was saying, she crept closer, and closer…

"Yes, of course", he was saying. "I'll be able to meet you in my offices there…shall we say February 2nd? I'm flying out in a few hours, but have a few things to do before then. Very well, I'm looking forward to it. Yes, sir, I'll see you in two weeks. Goodbye!" Mitchell put down the phone, and sighed.

"Do come in, Detective. Wipe your feet, though."

The trap had proven itself to be remarkably effective. Mitchell grinned at his captive, beaten by his henchmen, trussed up and hanging from a crane's hook, over a vat of industrial waste.

"You know," He remarked. "I tried to think of the best way to end your life, Detective Wilks. I wanted something…original. Something different. I wanted to make my mark on the world, before I vanish into obscurity in another country."

Cara snorted through her swollen lips. "So you're going to lower me into a vat of waste…why?"

"Oh, you know how difficult it is to do something new." Mitchell waved his hand in a 'what can you do' gesture, and shrugged. "I figured…why not go with something tested and true?"

"It's so over-done!" Wilks spat at him. "You're pathetic, Mitchell."

Mitchell shook his head. "Flattery, my dear, will get you nowhere. Besides, I added a few ingredients of my own. Hydrochloric acid, and arsenic. Of course, you're adding your own blood to it as we speak. Soon, my dear Detective, you'll die."

"Well," Cara began, "You're shit outta luck. Any second now, my partner will lead a SWAT team in here, and you'll be finished. There must be a dozen Police Drones circling this building already."

"Yes, yes, you're not alone, you have back-up, and you're probably wired, so everything you see and hear will be recorded, etc, etc. How very droll." Mitchell smirked. "However, I happen to know you're here alone, so don't try to bluff, Detective."

"What makes you think I'm alone?"

Mitchell's smirk widened into a full blown, predatory, grin. "What makes _you_ think Detective Regetti doesn't work for me?"

"What? That's not…no…" Cara sputtered, as Regetti walked out of the shadows, and waved half-heartedly.

"I warned you to go with back-up, Wilks." Regetti sighed. "You never listened."

"Just as you assured me she wouldn't." Mitchell crowed, and opened his wallet, handing a large wad of cash to Regetti, who neatly pocketed it.

Cara felt herself rapidly slipping out of consciousness. The last thing she saw before slipping under again was Mitchell, blowing her a kiss.

"Bye-bye, Detective!" He laughed. "I'd simply love to stay and watch you drown, but I have a plane to catch." Still laughing, he and Regetti slipped out of a side door, and were gone. Then…blackness.

When she woke up again, she had been lowered into the vat, her arms unhooked from the crane somehow, and all she could see was green. Green, viscous liquid, thick and dark, rolling around her under its' own power, as if it was a sentient being.

It wasn't, of course. It was the industrial waste.

She tried to scream, but found she couldn't open her mouth. She couldn't breathe, and thrashed about as much as her beaten, bloody body would allow. Wasting her final few moments of air, she kicked back, until she hit a wall – the metallic wall of her imprisonment, and undoubtedly her tomb. Kicking harder, and harder, she thought she felt something give…

Then, the blackness overtook her once again.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Two**_

**_(One Year Ago)_**

_(The following is an excerpt from the Paragon Times archives. A copy of the full story can be found, enlarged and framed, where it sits in the main lobby of The Tucker Foundation Headquarters, Paragon City.)_

_**The Ever-Burning Fire**_

_By Susan Daniels_

_Paragon City has had its' fair share of heroes in it's time. Indeed, even today, a normal, everyday person can't turn his or her head without seeing a caped individual rush past on their way in the pursuit of justice._

_But what about the heroes behind the masks?_

_Whilst few would have heard the name of 'Fire Guardian' before, there is little doubt that the name 'Jason Tucker' is one everyone would recognise. Recently found out to be the winner of the first Annual Worldwide Lottery, held almost exactly one year ago today, and subsequently, founder and head of the Tucker International War Victim Foundation, Tucker led a quiet life, until an unknown circumstance brought him here, to our own Paragon City. An unknown accident brought him close to death, and then to a rebirth – a rising from the ashes, if you will – as The Fire Guardian. He re-discovered a lost love, the now missing Emily Campbell, former aide to the former Mayor. Alongside his close companion, the recently deceased Samuel Robert Edwards, Tucker began to live his life as a Superhero. One that lived his life in the constant pursuit of freedom and economic equality for all, in spite of his turn of luck that made him one of the most wealthy individuals on the planet. Indeed, this change of fortune did not alter his personality, as we find it does with others. Rather, it sharpened his dreams into definable goals._

_Goals which he nearly achieved._

_His close friend and business partner, Michael Anson, now elected Mayor of Paragon, remembers a bright, funny, and intelligent young man._

"He was a good person_," Mayor Anson relayed to me upon our first meeting, at Tucker's funeral. "_The world will never see another Jason Tucker again_."_

_With Mayor Anson now fully in control of The Tucker Foundation, will he continue the good work that he and his deceased partner set up together? _

"Absolutely_", we are assured. "_The Tucker Foundation will never stop the work I have set out for it. In Jason's memory, we'll continue. We're even planning on relocating our main offices here, in Paragon. That way, there will always be a part of Jason looking out on the city he helped bring out of financial ruin._"_

_Whilst Tucker's death remains shrouded in mystery, we can take some comfort in knowing he is now at rest. Although police are still looking for his missing lover in relation to his death, as well as the death of Mr Edwards, Mayor Anson assures us that it is strictly routine. "_I wish to meet Ms Campbell, and look her directly in the eyes when she's finally brought in._"_

_So, is she guilty of murder?_

"Who's to say?"_ Anson says, with a shrug of his shoulders. "_I only know that she went missing the same night Jay was killed, last week. And, as Jason used to say, there's no such thing as a co-incidence_."_

_With his friend elected to public office, and his charity relocating to our fair city, we acknowledge that The Fire Guardian may be dead, but Jason Tucker will live on. Perhaps forever._

Jason Tucker wished he was dead.

'_It isn't as if this damned disguise is doing anything for me,'_ He reasoned to himself. _'Other than it's putting my bloody back out.'_

It had been a week since he had 'died' in a warehouse fire, set by Mike Anson in an overly-elaborate plot to take his money, his Foundation, and his life. Since then, having to hide his face, he had sent his only remaining confidant, an overly chatty doctor from the Chiron Medical Facility named Wilks, out to a tailor to have his Power Belt repaired, and a new costume loaded onto it. Having gotten the idea from his girlfriend Emily, who had used a Power Belt in a similar way, Tucker's instructions were specific, and Wilks returned, a few hours later, with a second identity programmed into the belt.

"Now, without you there, the tailor had to go by your instructions, so it may be a bit constrictive." Wilks was rambling. He handed the belt over to Tucker, who snapped it on, and activated the costume by pressing a red disk in the centre of the belt.

Half a second later, he was an elderly man, with a long white ponytail, tweed suit, and a hunched over back.

"Oh….shit, that hurts!"

"Yes, well, the tailor only went by your instructions. You appear to be hunching over somewhat. Is that the costume, or just you?"

The old man turned and glared at Wilks. "What do you think, Doc? I say something hurts, and you can see my back is more crooked than a politician. Put two and two together."

"Yes, I see." Wilks stared at the old man. "At least the facial overlay is working. At least, I assume it is. You currently look like you're mouthing the words 'I'm going to kill you' over and over again."

"I am."

"Ah, then it's working."

"Oh, yes."

Wilks surveyed the small room his friend was living in. "You know, I would have thought you'd buy a house, or an apartment."

"Too flashy."

"Be that as it may, Mr Tucker, it's not as if you couldn't afford it."

Jason chuckled. "Doc, if you're going to ask me to move out, I'll be more than happy to."

"Nonsense. My house is your house. So to speak."

It wasn't so much a house that Wilks was referring to; so much as it was a hospital. Jason had only returned a week ago, and although he was physically fine (Thanks, as Doctor Wilks would be the first to point out, to fine medical care) he was refusing to leave.

"Jason," Wilks began, before pausing and looking his charge in the eye. "You know, it's difficult to talk to you when you're wearing that thing. Could you turn it off, please?"

"Sure." The 'old man' pressed the disk on his belt again, and became Jason Tucker.

"Now, Jason", Wilks began again. "You know, this isn't healthy. You've become shut in. Your legs were repaired; you've had numerous blood transfusions, all quietly, subtly. Nobody knows you're here but me. I daresay nobody knows you're alive except for me."

"And Emily." Jason interrupted.

"And Emily." Wilks allowed. He had no doubt that Emily was still alive, having given Jason a note from her a few days ago. "However, you have a disguise. You can walk about Paragon freely, and nobody will know who you are. This reminds me." He fished inside his lab coat pocket, and produced a small card, which he handed to Jason.

"John Fernandez?"

Wilks shrugged. "When I saw the finished disguise, it seemed like a John."

Jason shrugged back. "Fair enough."

Wilks smiled at Jason. "You know…your funeral is today."

Jason blinked. "Already?"

"It's been a week. My point is, Jason, you can go to your funeral. Move on, as it were."

"I don't know, Doc. Going to my own funeral seems morbid, somehow."

"Actually, psychiatrists hold 'mock funerals' for certain patients of theirs, with them in attendance. It's supposed to be life affirming."

"I'm not going."

"Jason…"

"I'm not going."

Jason stood, hunched over a cane, watching his own funeral.

"_Damn Wilks, and his '_life affirming'_ bullshit"_, He grumbled to himself. Secretly, however, he was stunned, and somewhat pleased, with the turnout he had gotten.

He watched in silence as the priest said some truly nice things about him, about his need to make sure people were safe, and happy. A blonde woman in a nice suit caught his eye, as she was writing in a notebook as everyone mourned.

When the mourners started to leave, a sight caught Jason's eye.

Mike Anson. Lawyer, chairman of The Tucker Foundation. Friend, advisor, traitorous snake.

'_I'll get you soon'_, Jason swore to himself, as Mike looked on, his face blank. _I promise you, Anson, I'll be coming for you soon'._

He turned his head, and noticed the blonde woman was looking directly at him. Jason nodded to her gently, and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Mike approach her. Jason couldn't help himself. _'Watch your back, lady. That guy's trouble.'_ He smiled at the thought, and turned to walk away. As he did, he heard Mike speak to the woman.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"Oh." The woman stammered. "No, I'm just here to pay my respects."

Jason shuffled on, silently cursing the damn tailor for making his back hurt, trying to find a better vantage point on top of a nearby hill.

"_Somehow_," I mused to myself, "_I simply have to find a way to pay back Wilks for these digs."_

It had been several months since my funeral. At least, I think it has. Time has an odd way of passing when you live as a hermit, nearly cut off from the world at large.

When I returned to Chiron one day, Wilks had gone off on some errand. He left me two things, however. One was a note (no, not the note from Emily. I'd already received that, remember?) And the other…

Let me explain a few things. Superheroes operate best in teams. Certainly, they can go out by themselves, but the information they get given by their contacts or informants is very rarely complete. A Hero who goes out to perform a simple mission such as 'meet So-and-So', or 'retrieve a piece of Clockwork' can find themselves overwhelmed. I know, I can hear some of you reminding me that Superman works alone. I've got two words for you. Justice League. Besides, I've never met the guy, but…come on. The invulnerable, super strong, super fast, super everything Last Son of Krypton doesn't need any help. Us more…earthbound Superheroes need sidekicks, partners, and mentors. A 'lone wolf' Superhero is one who's, more than likely, intimate with the every ins and outs of the medical facilities scattered throughout Paragon, and has used his emergency teleporter so many times, Statesman would probably have to award him a badge for being so resilient.

I would, naturally, replace the word 'resilient' with the word 'dumb'.

If you find you can't do something right, don't bloody do it.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes. Teams. Sometimes, teams work so well together, they'll form a more permanent team, which are officially called (and I shudder at the name) Super Groups. Like Super Friends, I suppose, but without the cloying cutesiness. These Groups, once they've registered with the City Council, are awarded a plot of land, which can only be accessed by members of that group after they've had what're called 'IdentiChips' embedded into them, allowing them to enter.

It's one of these IdentiChips, which Wilks had left me.

I scanned through the note quickly. Something I had discovered was that, with my artificial eyes, if I looked at something once, I could recall it instantly. When I had asked Wilks about it, he mentioned something about .avi clips and JPEG formats, and muttered something else about a hard-drive lodged in my brain. I tried not to think too much about that, as I've never had much luck with computers.

'_John.'_ I wondered about that for a second, then realised. John was my 'new' name, according to my ID. Of course, Wilks would be careful enough to not leave any evidence of my real identity behind.

'_John. Please find enclosed an Identichip, which should allow you access to a SG base. The exact state of the base is unknown, however, all members were unfortunately killed, or left the group for greener pastures, shortly after the war. Normally, you would have to have the chip surgically inserted into you, however, you can embed it yourself in your artificial legs with a minimum of pain. You will find concealed cubbyholes in your legs, where your calves should be._

'_I'll be in touch with I can, and I meant to be there. Sadly, I have to meet with my grand-daughter about a matter of some urgency._

_All the best, Wilks.'_

After leaving Chiron, I made my way to the nearest Base Portal, closed my eyes, and stepped inside.

When I opened them, I stood in a small room, covered wall to wall in metal. The lights flickered on and off, and it was clear to me that the base had fallen into disrepair. As I walked further along, I came into a large hall, with a broken desk covered in cobwebs, cubicles fallen into disrepair, a large monitor which had seen better days, and, to one side, the only new additions I could tell of were a single…I wouldn't even call it a bed. It was a clunky cot, with a battery operated lamp on a nightstand with three legs, two of them cracked and wobbly.

I made my way through the gloomy room, and turned my eyes over to night-vision. Finding an old, near mouldy desk, I sat down on the battered leather armchair, put my feet up, and leaned back.

The chair broke.

As I picked myself up from the floor, and dusted myself down, I frowned at the chair, the desk, and the horrible base…my new home. It'd take a lot of work, and a lot of money, to get this place habitable again.

"_Somehow_," I mused to myself, "_I simply have to find a way to pay back Wilks for these digs_."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Three _**

Wilks stepped through the portal, into complete blackness.

"Mr Tucker?" he called out tentatively.

"Yo!" A muffled voice replied in the darkness.

"Did something happen to the power?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. I'm working on the generator. Come on through."

Wilks chuckled. "Unlike you, Mr Tucker, these old eyes can't see in the dark."

"I thought you had the same implants I do."

"No, no. These were the prototypes. I can't see in any other spectrum other than normal, visible light."

"Oh." Jason said, surprised. "Well, hang on a second, I've…almost…"

Somewhere, something ticked, thrummed with power, and the light slowly blinked on. Wilks stepped through into the main hall, and looked around.

"Very nice. Someone's been doing a spot of cleaning."

"Someone's had to."

Wilks followed the muffled voice down to a large power generator in one corner, with two denim clad legs sticking out from underneath it. Jason slid out, and stood up, trying to brush the oil and dirt off his white t-shirt and jeans.

As Tucker tried to make himself presentable, Wilks took a good look around. "Is that…blood on the floor? Oh, my."

"Base raid, I think." Jason grinned. "I found some of the original inhabitants, too."

"Really?"

"Well, what was left of them. At least I have plenty of meat in the fridge, now." Tucker grinned evilly, before nodding at Wilk's hand. "What's that?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes." Wilks moved over to the large monitor, trying to forget Jason's cannibalism joke. "I brought SAMI."

Jason blinked. "Sammy? Uhm…Doc? He's dead. Remember? The body in my coffin?"

"What? Oh, right, your colourful friend. No. Well, in a …uhm…this is…well…SAMI." Wilks waved a CD at Jason, who stood there, confused.

"And SAMI would be…?"

"The Synchronous Artificial Mind Index. An artificial intelligence linked up to fifteen satellites in geo-synchronous orbit over Earth, keeping track of crimes and other details, and alerting the users of the program."

"Clever." Jason nodded. "So, why is it an artificial intelligence?"

"Something has to sort out the pertinent information from the useless. That's SAMI's job."

"So…it's a sidekick?"

"No, more of a tech guru. Did you ever see an episode of…I think it was called 'Kim Possible'?"

Jason shrugged.

"Think of it as your own personal 'Wade'". Wilks slid the CD into a slot on the side of the monitor, and pressed a button.

The screen dissolved into blackness, with big white letters dominating the centre.

**Synchronous**

**Artificial**

**Mind**

**Index**

…**SAMI…**

**Is ready.**

**Please enter verbal command.**

"I…uhh…took the liberty of installing an Avatar into SAMI for you, to make things easier to use. I scoured through Chiron's CCTV archives, until I had an exact…"

"Woah, woah!" Jason blinked. "What's an Avatar?"

Suddenly, a giant face Jason recognised, all too well, appeared on the screen, grinning like a loon.

"I'm an Avatar. What's up, Wankenstein?"

Susan looked over her schedule for the week, and groaned. _'Another function, another dinner, and then…my weekly Friday meeting with the Mayor'. _

It seemed as if Mayor Anson had taken a particular shine to Susan, and invited her, in an 'official capacity', to pretty much every event which came from his office. It made her feel as if she was constantly by his side, on his arm, like a piece of eye candy.

'_Get a grip, Daniels'_, she chided herself. '_Maybe he's using you as a free escort, but you're getting some good stories out of this_.'

Good stories.

'_Since when did I consider a good story to be what businessmen from Talos Island had for dinner? _' She sighed. Life had certainly changed for her since Tucker's funeral. She had risen through the ranks of her fellow journalists ever since Anson took power, giving her exclusives and letting her listen in on 'sensitive' information that he deemed important for the people to know. In return, she felt she had become little more than a glorified PR assistant.

'_The Mayor took some time from playing golf…'_

'_Mayor Anson, resplendent in a charcoal suit, grey shirt, and orange tie…'_

'_There must be some news somewhere. There MUST be!'_

Scowling, Susan grabbed her jacket from her chair, and stormed off to the elevators.

It was time to hit the streets.

I stared up at Sammy. Or…SAMI.

Whatever.

"Dude, say something." Sa….the face…grinned down at me. "You look like you're about to freak out."

I realised I was swaying slightly. Turning to Wilks, who tried his best to hide an amused smile. "It…it can see me?"

"Oh, believe it, baby. It talks."

I jumped. "Okay, nobody but the real Sammy would say something like that."

"I know."

"But you're not him! Sammy's dead."

"I know that, too. I'm SAMI."

"No, you're not."

SAMI looked at me, indignantly. "Yes, I am. I'm SAMI, the Synchronous Arti…"

"SHUT UP!" I wheeled around to Wilks. "Why does that…thing think that it's Sammy?"

"Well…it is."

What?

"You see, Sammy was stunned by a Police Drone shortly before we met. Drones have a built in identification system, based on a mind scan technique which reads…well, it's very complicated. However, it takes a reading of a person's…for lack of a better term, mind. Personality, preferences, memories, that sort of thing, and compares it against the Paragon Criminal Database. Mr Edwards' file was…uh…liberated by a former police detective I know, and installed on this program. For all intents and purposes…that _is_ Sammy Edwards, at least from a time before his death."

"True, dat, ho."

I glanced at SAMI. "You shut up."

"But…"

"That's an order."

The Avatar (I found it much more comforting to think of the face on the screen that way) frowned, but stayed silent.

"Now, explain to me. What is an Avatar?"

Wilks gestured to the screen in a grand gesture. "That is. It's an artificial intelligence algorithm, answerable only to you."

"I don't need an Avatar."

"Ah, but you do." Wilks smiled at me. "The SAMI program is too vast for any one person to traverse successfully. The Avatar, in this case, Mr Edwards…"

"Yo."

Wilks continued as if the Avatar had never spoken. "The Avatar provides a helpful graphical and verbal interface, allowing you to filter out the facts from the rumours. Also, in this…" He looked around the room in disgust "Place, you could do well to have a friendly face to keep you company. As I said, SAMI is, like it or not, an exact duplicate of Mr Edwards."

I turned back to the screen. The Avatar stuck its' tongue out at me.

"Looks like we're stuck with each other."

"What do you mean, 'stuck'? I'll have you know I'm programmed with over 1,000 verbal, visual, and audio games, and can provide stimulating conversation on a wide variety of subjects."

I was intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yeah, but let's do all that later. I found a data-feed from some internet porn. Shall I put it on the main monitor?"

This was going to be hell.

This, Susan told herself, was going to be hell.

It had been quite a while since she'd been 'on the beat', as she liked to call it. Finding her old sources, reminiscing on old times, and trying to discover something actually newsworthy. The job as she used to do it. The job she had found herself hopelessly out of touch with.

One of her old 'friends', in the Hellion Gang, took one look at her and decided to make a play for her jewellery. Running as quickly as she could to the nearest police outpost, she took a breather to compose herself, then realised she was completely and totally lost.

Founder's Falls had never looked so bad.

Once, a picturesque part of Paragon, Founder's Falls had changed from the type of place people wanted to take photos of, to the sort of place people wouldn't want to even bring their cameras. Or their children. Or themselves, for that matter. The once pristine lakes, which had shimmered gold at noon, were murky, and uncared for. Gangs roamed the streets in broad daylight, and nobody, not the police, nor the heroes, took the time to stop them. At night, things were worse.

There were rumours…an urban myth which supposedly traced back decades, as such things often did, of a hunter who prowled the streets at night. A hunter with no face, with no body, who was carried on the wind, and struck with a blazing arm made of white fire. Another rumour put this hunter as someone with no face, a body towering at eight feet high, and a cape as black as the night itself. A third placed this hunter as an old man, who hunted the streets, draining the youth and vitality out of his victims, so that he may live another night, always hunting, waiting, watching.

When questioned, why has nobody heard of this hunter until recently, the answers are always the same.

"The heroes are gone, now."

Susan didn't believe in myths, or legends, or eight feet demonic hunters with arms of fire. She believed in fact. In proven truths. It was her job as a journalist to set lies, rumours, and myths back in the trash where they belonged.

However, as she ran past a signpost reading "Pocket D", she kept a close eye on the sun, as it dipped over the horizon.

At night, she reasoned to herself, if would be more difficult to see the gangs.

At night, she tried to push the thought away, something Hunts in Paragon City.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Four _**

"Well, some things never change," I muttered to myself, as I took in the view. "Pocket D is as bad as ever."

I had been hit on no less than three times in as many minutes from three different people. All Tankers, judging by how they looked, but then again, you can never be too sure in Paragon.

I made my way to the Blue Bar, which was frequented mostly by Heroes, and put down my Paragon Times I.D.

"I'm looking for someone." I yelled over the music.

"Ain't seen him." The barman replied.

"Her."

"Ain't seen her."

I sighed inwardly. "I'm not a cop. I just want information."

"Ain't got any."

"My friend does."

"Shame. Ain't seen her."

I took out my purse, and slowly, deliberately, took out fifty dollars in tens, pushing the five notes towards him. He pocketed the cash quickly.

"Who you lookin' for?"

"Her name's Groundwalker."

He shrugged. "Don't mean nothing to me."

"Sarriss Groundwalker?"

The barman looked at me for the first time. "Whiskey?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's what we call 'er around here. Whiskey. She's a whiskey drinker."

"So you've seen her?"

He grinned. "Got any more notes?"

I pulled out another fifty dollars, and palmed it to him. He checked the notes carefully, taking his time, definitely making a show of it. Or stalling.

"So…" I said, as casually as I could. "Have you seen her?"

"Nope."

I got up from my stool.

"Order a drink."

I turned back to the barman. "Excuse me?"

"I said, order a drink. From Isaac downstairs. Whyren's Reserve."

I scowled. "I would, but someone just emptied my purse."

He shook his head. "Did I say 'buy' a drink? I said order one."

"So, if I order a drink here, I won't get it?"

The barman looked at me, a pained expression on his face.

"No wonder this place is going downhill."

I stood with a smirk, and made my way past the vomiting men, kissers, ravers, and Superpowered beings, to the downstairs bar.

"I'd like to order a drink."

"Well, honey," this new barman grinned at me. "You've come to the right place."

"Oh?"

"Well, this is a bar." He gestured across the countertop. "And I, as a barman can facilitate your need for beverages, alcoholic and otherwise."

I chuckled. At least this guy was friendlier than the money-grabber upstairs.

"I'd like a Whyren's Reserve."

The man's smile vanished.

"And why would you like that? It's a rare type of whiskey."

"It's for a friend." I said carefully, never breaking eye contact.

"Ah."

'Ah?' I didn't sign on to join any club, or anything. I didn't expect passwords or secret phrases.

"She's…"

"I know your friend. She's unavailable."

Okay. Weirder and weirder.

"What's your name, Miss?"

"Daniels. Susan Daniels. I'm…"

"A reporter. Paragon City Times. Not a bad one, either." The barman leaned in close, and smiled. "Although, to tell plain truth, we don't know why you're suddenly writing for the society pages."

_How did he know who I was? And who was 'we'? _

"I'm not writing for the society pages."

"You're following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he's wearing, where he goes, what he does? You're a gossip columnist, in my book."

I stared at him.

"Look, when will….my friend…be available?"

He shrugged. "I'll let her know you asked. She'll be in touch."

Sighing, I made my way to leave. _'Bunch of useless…' _

I suppose I didn't watch where I was going, but I collided into a man, and nearly knocked him off his feet. Grabbing his shoulder, I looked at him.

"You okay there, old timer?"

"Old timer?" The man blinked at me. "Oh, right."

He was obviously two or three sheets to the wind, so I let him alone, and started to walk off. I was surprised when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I spun around, the same old man was there.

"I know you."

"You do, huh?" _'Great' _ I sighed to myself. _'Another wino trying to hit me up for cash' ._

The man nodded. 'Here it comes…'

"You were at the funeral for that Hero last month. The Fire Guardian, right?"

"I….yes."

"The Mayor's friend."

I scowled. "Now, why does everyone in this place think of me as just a friend to the Mayor? I have a job. I have a life."

The old guy held his hands up. "Okay, okay."

Embarrassed that I had jumped down the man's throat, I tried to change the subject. "So, you were at the funeral, too?"

"Oh, yeah. Tucker was a nice guy."

"You knew him?"

"I…" The man froze for a second. "I knew of him. His Foundation used to do good things."

"It still does." I reminded him. He laughed at me, which gave me pause.

"The Foundation's diversifying since the last time I looked." He grinned at me slightly, and hobbled away, before I could ask his name.

Great. My best contact's vanished, and has set up some elaborate way to leave her messages, and some old guy was being cryptic about an organisation which helped people out of debt, misfortune, and now, thanks to the Mayor, practically ran the…

_Wait. _

The Tucker Foundation…owned Paragon. To be more precise, the man who owned the Foundation ran Paragon, but…still…

"_You're following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he's wearing, where he goes, what he does? You're a gossip columnist, in my book." _

I don't follow him around everywhere.

I don't know what he does.

"_The Foundation's diversifying since the last time I looked."_

'_Founder's Falls is looking pretty run down these days…' _ I remembered. Exactly what was The Foundation doing?

I hurried out, to get back to the offices. As I opened the door, a blast of cold wind shocked across my face, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. Glancing around, I saw the Monorail station in the distance, which would take me back to the office, back to the research computers, back to…

A knife at my throat?

The woman struggled in his grip.

'_Good' _, the mugger thought to himself. _'A woman with spirit.' _

"Please," She stammered. "I don't have any money."

"That's a shame." The mugger grinned into the woman's hair. "We'll have to find some other way for you to…pay me."

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…"

The mugger chuckled. This was definitely going to be more fun.

He glanced around an nearby alley. Dark, murky, filled with shadows…perfect.

'_Although, '_ he suddenly shivered ' _…why is that one shadow _moving '

I felt the mugger shudder behind me, and then, with one strong push, he shoved me away, and spun around to face an alley.

"Who's there?" He yelled out, waving the knife in front of him.

Part of me wanted to run. To scream, and hide, and never, ever come back this way again. However…I'm a journalist. I like a good story, and this was definitely a good story. So, despite part of my mind screaming at me to move, I stayed still. I stayed quiet. Watching. The mugger moved into the mouth of the alleyway, and I stared, transfixed, as…absolutely nothing happened. He laughed loudly, and turned back to face me.

"Now, bitch, where were we?"

Before I could say, or do, anything, the alley erupted in light, and a burst of fire shot out…

No, I realised. It was a _Fire Sword! _

The Sword came down, and sliced open the man's arm, burning as it went, causing the mugger to drop the knife with a scream. He spun back to face the attacker, only to be met by a headbutt, from a dark, hi-tech looking helmet. The mugger collapsed on the floor, unconscious, and I got a quick glimpse of a tall man in dark armour, with a red cloth mask covering his entire face. Just before the Sword was shut off, I swore that I saw a glint of a large, metallic flame emblem on his chest, and then…nothing.

It can't be. It just can't be…

I ran into the alley, and looked around blindly in the dark. Fumbling with my handbag, I pulled out a gift from my parents a few years ago, a credit card sized torch, which provided terrible illumination. As I peered down the alley, I saw nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Something made me glance up, and, for a moment, I saw…something. More a shadow than a person, and it seemed to be looking down at me.

"Mr….Mr Tucker?" I managed to get out. "You're supposed to be...well…dead."

Oh, that's smart.

The figure stayed where it was for a moment, and then slipped away, moments before a police drone arrived.

This, I realised, was going to make a very interesting article.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter Five _**

I moved around my new home, cleaning, tidying, whilst SAMI watched.

That isn't exactly true. What SAMI did was generate a couch for its' Avatar, which then proceeded to recline, and drink from a large container with a straw.

"Having fun, Jay?"

I glared up at the screen. "You know, this'd go a lot better if you weren't dead."

SAMI shrugged. "Don't blame me. _I_ didn't get killed. I'm pre-death, remember?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever. Sammy was a lazy bastard, too."

"Hey! I resent that."

"Oh, bite me."

I sighed. This was going nowhere. I glanced up at the screen, where SAMI had finished his…I mean, its' drink, and was now playing with a yo-yo.

"Is that just a really complicated screen saver, or something?"

"Nope." SAMI grinned at me, before he 'walked the dog'. "I'm just bored."

"How can a computer program get bored?"

"How can a human being who's supposed to be dead criticise?"

"Uhh…shut up."

SAMI chuckled. "You know, if you put the table in the middle of the room, it'll combat the negative space you've created."

"What? Since when were you an interior designer?"

"Since I'm programmed with that sort of thing."

"What other useless things are programmed into you?"

"Your mum."

I sighed, and shook my head. Definitely Sammy, no matter how you tried to re-package it.

Something beeped on the monitor, and SAMI glanced off-screen for a second.

"What was that?"

"Hang on, mate." SAMI pulled out a little mobile phone, and flicked it open. "Go ahead."

I stared. SAMI…using a phone? I watched as SAMI spoke a few more words into the phone, then hung up.

"We've got a hit."

"A…hit?"

SAMI nodded. "Doctor Wilks pre-programmed me with some specific search algorithms, and any hits on those particular words were to be red flagged, your eyes only."

"And?"

"And since you don't technically have eyes anymore…"

"Sam…"

He…I mean it, grinned. "Sorry. There's someone asking questions about one of the Underground. Might be worth a look."

"The what?"

"It's called the Secret National Anti-Foundation Underground. Dedicated to stopping the 'evils' of The Tucker Foundation."

I blinked, trying to sound out the acronym in my head. "The…SNAFU?"

"Hey, don't blame me. I just work here."

"Anyway, how is the Foundation evil?"

Sam shrugged. "I'll feed everything to your optic implants on your way to rendezvous."

"You can do that?"

"Sure. It's my job."

"Okay, where'm I going?"

Sam clicked his virtual fingers, and a map appeared, super-imposed, on my regular vision.

"The Pocket D club."

--

I've been out before, since my 'death', and not as John Fernandez. Time to time, I've snuck around various places in Paragon where I've needed back-up. Since I don't have any team-mates who can join me out in the field, I've had to rely on my Fire Sword, my assault rifle, and my costume's forcefield. Which means, unfortunately for my plan of anonymity, that I've had to become The Fire Guardian again.

Not like last time, though. Last time, I had two 'official' outings as the Guardian, and it got my heart broken. Not to mention my right arm, as well as a serious lack of blood from having my girlfriend beat me to a pulp; and that was after she nearly killed me by taking both my legs off with an automatic weapon of her own.

This time was different. This time, I was alone. Solo. A 'Lone Wolf'. Not that I went on any missions, per se. I entered no abandoned warehouses, or tried to stop the Clockwork from assembling their Macguffin of the week. No, I did what felt right.

I hunted.

From what SAMI had reported about me going out in the past couple of weeks, rumours were spreading. Although my identity had never been mentioned, there were a few urban legends sprouting up, which, I have to confess, were pretty cool.

This time was definitely different than my hunting sessions, although no less cool. From the maps that Sam had projected onto my vision, I found a quick and easy way to get into Pocket D. As 'John Fernandez', people ignored me, probably believing me to be just another drunken former Archetype, drowning his sorrows. I quickly scanned through the data that had been compiled on SNAFU (what a name) and the newly 'revitalised' Foundation, and what I read made me turn cold.

"There." I heard a voice whisper in my ear. I spun around, and saw…nobody.

"Stop dicking around." The voice said again.

"Who's there?" I whispered back.

"Dude, if you don't stop messing around, I'm not going to be in the right frame of mind for when I visit your mother later."

"SAMI?" I whispered. "How did you…"

"No time. Actually….stand there."

"What? Why?"

A blonde flurry collided with me, nearly knocking me down. As it was, she spun me around.

"Yeah, big bad Superhero nearly gets knocked off his feet by a woman weighing, what? 90 pounds?"

I tried to ignore Sam, as I felt the woman's hand on my shoulder.

"You okay there, old timer?"

Who the hell is she calling…

"Old timer?" I paused, remembering who I was supposed to be. "Oh, right." The woman looked familiar. Blonde…nice legs…business type…oh!

"I know you!"

"You do, huh?" She seemed…saddened by that, somehow. Women. All of them are insane, even if they don't try to kill you. Twice.

I nodded. "You were at the funeral for that Hero last month. The Fire Guardian, right?"

"I….yes." She seemed stunned, but I wanted to press on. From what I had read, if Anson had discovered a way to shut down this Underground, or had even learned it might be a threat, he'd send someone to look into it.

"The Mayor's friend."

She scowled at me. . "Now, why does everyone in this place think of me as just a friend to the Mayor? I have a job. I have a life."

Okay, so maybe she wasn't a spy for Mike. At least, not a willing one. I held up my hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."

We chit chatted for a moment, before I tried to make myself scarce. I had nearly told her who I was, and that wouldn't be good. Either she'd believe me, and tell Anson that 'his close friend' was alive, and well, and spotted in Pocket D looking like an old man, or she'd think I was crazy, try to get me committed, and then tell Anson that some old guy said he was me. Although I'm the old guy, so I _would_ be me…

All this work with disguises and pretence made my head hurt. I slipped away as quickly as I could, and made it to a back alley, where I took a breather. I saw some movement up ahead, and turned my eyesight to night-vision, where I watched a drunken Hellion stumble about, before approaching a blonde haired…

Oh, no.

The next day, for Susan, was a blur. She filed a police report, and was unsure on whether or not to mention the help from the 'mysterious' Hero. The police would get a report to all Heroes registered in Paragon, and when it turned out that none of them were the helper, things could get ugly. If it –had- been Tucker who saved her, she might end up setting the police of Paragon after him accidentally, as they might mistake him as a vigilante. It'd be poor form to send a man who had spent millions of his own money to help others, as well as rescue Susan herself, twice over, to the Zig. Of course, it might not come to that. From what Susan had heard, a lot of newer Heroes, as well as more unsuccessful ones, 'claimed' to help out more people than they did, in order to boost their own prestige, or even jumped in at the last minute to finish off an opponent. 'Kill-Stealing', some of them called it, even if they never actually killed anyone. Surely one of these people would take credit, whether it was them or not.

The real dilemma, as far as she could tell, was whether or not to tell the Mayor. At her first interview, if she had mentioned that Jason might be alive, and offered the 'proof', as circumstantial as it may have been, he may have been overjoyed. After all she had read whilst doing her research, however…

Foundation Allies With Crey!

Tucker Foundation to assist Terra Volta!

Foundation sets up buildings over Paragon!

All in all, headlines which by themselves, meant nothing. However, when compared with other stories…crime rising in areas where the Foundation had put up their flag, Terra Volta having constant problems, as well as long-held suspicions with Crey, it seemed odd. The worst part, for Susan herself, was that she had written the original stories. All those 'exclusives', putting a good face on whatever Anson may be really up to.

'_It's time' _, she mused to herself, chewing on a pencil, '_To go speak with Mayor Anson' _.

"Susan!" Anson's voice boomed, making me cringe internally. "To what do I owe this honour?"

"Well, Mayor…"

"Michael, please."

I nodded. "Michael. I was wondering…"

"You know," he cut me off. "I just heard about last night, with that mugger. Terrible experience for you."

"Thank you, sir. But I'm not here about that."

"Oh?"

"It's just…there have been accusations levelled at the Tucker Foundation, as well as yourself in particular, and I was wondering if you had any comments."

His brow furrowed. "I wasn't aware that anyone had any complaints about me. As Mayor?"

"Oh, no, sir, nothing like that. But people are wondering about your relationship with Madame Crey, as well as a few other things."

He laughed. "I'm sure that people will gossip. Public figures tend to take a beating, no matter what they do."

I nodded. This was certainly true enough.

"Pay it no mind, Mayor. I was merely curious." I turned to leave, but couldn't resist one final comment. "Oh, last night…I may have run into a friend of yours."

The Mayor's usually jovial face tightened somewhat, and I thought I saw a glimmer of something…dangerous in his eyes.

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"Well," I took a breath to steady myself. "The unknown Hero who helped me. He was dressed like…well…The Fire Guardian."

The mayor's face went from being tanned and ruddy to pale, almost as quickly as he had won the election. "Susan…Jason Tucker is dead. I buried him myself." He sighed, and shook his head. "This is just some copycat wanting to pretend to be something he isn't, and will never be."

"Okay." I nodded.

"However…if he should contact you, or you should see him in any way…" He reached into his desk, and pulled out what looked like a pager, which he tossed to me. "Just press the button on that, and my private security detail will home in on that signal and…detain him. For questioning."

I nodded again, thanked the Mayor, and left his office quickly.

As I shut the door, I couldn't help but wonder…if it was just some copycat, why did the Mayor look so scared? What did he have to hide? And what, if anything, did this stranger know about him?

As soon as Susan left the office, Anson picked up a phone, and punched in a number.

"Yes?" The gruff voice barked down the line.

"It's me."

"Well, Mr Mayor. I haven't heard from you in a while. What's up?"

"It's Tucker."

There was a moments pause at the other end of the line.

"I thought you killed him."

"So did I." The Mayor snarled.

"So, what, you want the usual done?"

"What do you _think _, you imbecile?" Anson snapped.

"If he's alive, he'll be taken care of."

"Good." Mike paused. "There's one way we can be sure it's him. There's a journalist who's been doing reports on me. I want her followed."

Although Anson couldn't see the individual he was speaking to, he could practically hear the smile. "And if she leads us to Tucker?"

"Kill them both."

"And if not?"

Mike chuckled. "Tucker's always thought of himself as someone who'll right wrongs. Put her in danger. The Fire Guardian will follow."

"And if he doesn't show up?"

"Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting too close for comfort."

Anson put the phone down, and smiled.

Miles away, and belowground, SAMI replayed the entire message for me, which he had recorded by hacking into the phone lines.

"_And if he doesn't show up?"_

"_Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting too close for comfort." _

I scowled as SAMI re-appeared on the main monitor.

"So, Chief, what do we do now?"

I shrugged. "Mike wants The Fire Guardian to save this girl? Then I will."

"It'll be a trap. You just heard it for yourself."

"I'm not afraid of Mike, or this 'Regetti' guy." I grabbed my belt, and clipped it on.

"The Fire Guardian's going to come out of retirement."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Six **_

It took a few more weeks of planning before I was ready. I found a small room in the base which I converted into a gym, and trained non-stop. I convinced SAMI to pipe music through the PA system to pump me up. SAMI, being SAMI, obliged by playing Abba, Cheeky Girls, and The Spice Girls songs, just to irritate me. I'd wipe his…it's memory, only I didn't know how. Sadly, SAMI was well aware I didn't know how, and continued it's task happily. It was during one of these sessions when SAMI asked a question.

"Hey, Jay man?"

I sighed, and looked up. Although I could hear Sam, and he could hear (and, thanks to some irritating cameras see) me, I couldn't see him unless he transmitted his image to a secondary monitor, which he wasn't doing now, nor could I gauge his moods at any particular time.

Now that was odd. When did I start thinking about SAMI as…Sam? As a 'he', and not merely a thing?

"Yes, Sam?"

"Where do babies come from?"

…

"I….what?"

"Babies. Little pink humans that cry, spit, wail, eat, crap, that sort of thing."

"Sam, stop messing around. You know where babies come from."

"That's just it. I don't."

I grabbed a towel, and mopped at my face and hair. "Sammy knew where they came from, and you should have all his knowledge. Plus, you're a Supercomputer, who was programmed by a _doctor _. Don't mess around, Sam, I'm not in the mood."

"What? No, I know about the biology of humans, and your acts of procreation. Since we started talking, I've read up on several poems, works of fiction, and factual thesis on the subject of procreation."

"And?"

"The Kama Sutra is definitely my favourite."

I rolled my eyes. "No, I mean, why do you ask about babies? I don't understand."

"I understand the biological functions which produce offspring, but I cannot fathom the emotions behind it. What convinces a man and a woman to engage in sexual relations to have a child?"

"Oh. Well, there are lots of factors." I looked directly into the nearest camera, and shrugged as it focused in on me. "Alcohol, boredom, guilt…the usual."

"There are lots of mentions on the word 'love'."

I shook my head. "So, what, you want to know what love is? Don't go all Star Trek on me, man."

"Hmm?" Sam paused for a few seconds. "Oh, yes, I see."

"What?"

"I just watched all episodes of the television series Star Trek, all of its' sequels, the prequel, and the movies. William Shatner didn't age particularly well. However, you're right, machines do seem to have a hard time understanding the concept of love."

I made my way from the gym to the main room, watching the CCTV cameras swivel and rotate towards me, watching me advance. "Probably because it isn't a concept. You can't define emotions, or categorise and departmentalise feelings. They rule human thought and action."

"Wow. Sucks to be you."

"Tell me about it."

"Is this why you're so intent on finding Emily, even though she told you not to try?"

I stopped at a fridge, and opened it up, grabbing a bottle of 'Back Alley Brew'.

"Yes."

"What does it feel like to be in love?"

"It's…not really something I can describe. Didn't Sammy know?"

"Not that I can tell."

I wasn't surprised. I sat down at the long table, and kicked my feet up, cold beer in hand. "Sammy loved the physical aspects of a relationship, Sam. That was all there was to it, for him. Just the sex."

Sam paused, digesting this information. "Was he any good at it?"

"How would **_I _** know?"

"He was your best friend, and vice versa. If anyone would know, he would have told you."

"Guys…tend to exaggerate. There's an old saying that the more you boast about something, the less likely it is to be true."

"So?"

"So, if that stands up, Sammy was terrible."

"Ah."

I eyed the screen. "How does that make you feel?"

"I don't feel."

"No, I mean, what's your reaction to learning that your progenitor isn't everything your data file says?"

"I do not understand."

"Verbalise your internal responses to the statement I gave about Sammy, please."

There was a slight pause.

"There is conflicting data here. Attempting to remedy. Error. End remedial action. Retrying. Error. End remedial action."

I smiled at the screen. "Enough."

Sam frowned at me. "What is going on?"

I grinned. "You're confused. That's an emotion, too."

"Ah, I see." Sam nodded. "So, is that what love is like? A series of conflicting data which you cannot sort through?"

I chuckled. "Most of the time? Yes."

"Then I stand by my previous statement."

"Oh?"

"Sucks to be you."

Susan was being followed, she was sure of that. A man had been tailing her for the past half hour.

She had only intended to go as far as Galaxy City, to speak with a donator to The Tucker Foundation. However, things quickly escalated for her, and she found herself in The Hollows, phone in her hand, eyes darting about looking for help.

Wandering past an old building, she used the window's reflection to look behind her. The man was still following, but had been joined by two friends, walking slowly, casually, and never once taking their eyes off her.

'_Calm down' _, she muttered to herself. _'Maybe they're just fans. Yeah, right.' _

Susan snorted to herself, and ducked into a nearby alley, hiding behind a dumpster, just before she heard a slight thus, then another, followed by one more. Then, nothing.

Straining her ears, she tried to pick out voices, their footsteps, even their breathing, but to no avail. After a few minutes of hearing nothing but the wind, her legs began to cramp. She wanted to stand, to run and hide somewhere she'd be safe, but she had no idea who these people were, or what they wanted. How could she be safe hiding from something out to get her, when she didn't know who, or what, she was hiding from?

She couldn't take it anymore. Peeking around the corner, what she saw made her gasp. The three men all had blades out, but they didn't seem to be much of a threat. Maybe it was because they weren't looking at her. Maybe it was because they were all unconscious, and on the ground. Or maybe…just maybe…it was the fact that, leaning against the alley wall, was Sarriss Groundwalker.

"What're you doing down there?" Sarriss grinned at her.

Susan got up, and dusted down her knees. "You could have let me know you were here."

"This way was more fun."

Susan glanced at Sarriss and scowled. Always smiling and cheerful, Sarriss towered over her 5'3 frame by nearly a foot, broad shouldered and, as much as Susan hated to admit it, statuesque. That was the only way to describe Sarriss. Light brown curly hair over a red and yellow one piece that left little to the imagination, Sarriss had always made the normally attractive feeling Susan feel like an ugly duckling.

"Still teasing guys at Pocket D, Sarr?"

"Something like that." Sarriss nodded. "I heard you were looking for me. Does it have anything to do with these three…gentlemen?"

"Possibly." Susan shrugged.

"Well, let's go." Sarriss began floating off.

"Go? Go where? These guys found me, they know who I am, and what I look like. They'll be coming after me again, and probably more of them, too."

"Right. So let's go somewhere they won't be able to find us." Sarriss held up a small green computer chip, and winked. " 'Welcome to my lair, said the spider to the fly'."

"What? You're a spider, now?"

"No. I think we're both flies on this one. C'mon, there's a base portal in Atlas we can use."

I paced the floor of the base. Sam was searching for details on the trap Mike had set for that reporter, and he was coming up empty handed. Err….empty memory keyed.

"Would you stop that?" He glared at me.

"Hmm?" I quit my pacing, and turned to look at the monitor.

"It's very distracting, you walking around like that. Quit it."

"How can you possibly get distracted?"

Sam shrugged. "It's just an expression. But, still, it's irritating as hell." There was a beep, and he looked off-screen. "Portal's been activated."

I stared. "What?"

"The portal…to the base…" Sam spoke as if I were deaf, or stupid. "Has been…activated."

"Meaning?"

"Well, Jay old boy, I think it means someone's coming to the base."

"How?"

"My guess would be an IdentiChip."

"Really? Well done, then!" I sputtered. "It's good to see all that artificial intelligence isn't going to waste. Are you sure you're not running on a 486 with a big screen?"

Sam glared at me. "If you're going to be like that…"

"Be like _what_, Sam? Your idea of an intruder alert is dreadful! 'Oh, by the way, some guys are coming in unannounced'. You're useless. I ought to delete you, and let a copy of Theme Hospital run in your place!"

Sam continued to glare, and then, all of a sudden, he winked out, leaving a blank screen.

"Sam? Oh, hell."

The door keypad beeped several times. Luckily, I had put a lock on the door, so nobody should be getting through…

**_CLANG! _**

What the hell?

**_CLANG! _**

_They're trying to break in! Okay, okay…think. You're a smart guy, what do you do? _

I looked at the screen in desperation.

"Sam!" I hissed. "Stop messing around!"

The screen remained blank.

**_CLANG! _**

Okay, that one sounded harder. I looked around the room, and my eyes rested on a small raised platform.

_Nah, that only works in movies, and bad stories._ I mused to myself.

**_CLA… _**

Oh, nuts. Out of time.

Susan wearily followed Sarriss out of the base portal. She suspected that Sarriss either didn't know, or didn't care, that traversing the portals for Non Powered Citizens could be physically draining. She stumbled out of the blue light, and looked around. They were contained in a small metal room, a closed door the only visible entrance to the base, lit up by the harsh blue glowing of the portal, a closed circuit camera hanging overhead.

Sarriss leaned over, and studied the keypad for a moment.

"No way of knowing how many numbers are used in the pass code. Therefore, no way of knowing the odds."

"Isn't this your base?" Susan frowned.

"It's…a friend's." Sarriss offered as her only explanation, tapping on the keypad at random.

Susan watched Sarriss guess at the passcode combination, and eyed her suspiciously.

"You have absolutely no idea what the password is, do you?"

Sarriss grinned in the blue light, as she turned to face Susan. "Let's just say the friend doesn't know that I'm a friend."

"So we're dropping in un-announced?"

"Oh…" Sarriss looked up at the security camera, which had focused on her. "I'd say he knows we're here." Reeling back her fist, Sarriss punched the door as hard as she could.

**_CLANG! _**

Sarriss shook her hand, and hissed gently at herself.

"What? Did that hurt?" Susan blinked. "I thought you were supposed to be super strong."

**_CLANG! _**

Sarriss' fist struck again, and, as she reeled back for another hit, she turned to face Susan. "Does that mean things don't hurt? No. I'm not invulnerable to pain."

**_CLANG! _**

Sarriss tilted her head. "I think that got something. One more…"

_**CLA…**CRUNCH! _

Sarriss yelped, and shook her hand. "Okay. Definitely a bone or two broken. DAMMIT, that hurt!"

Susan peered at the door. "I think you got something, though. I heard a crunching noise."

Sarriss turned back to her companion, and Susan was glad that Sarriss couldn't set things on fire with her eyes. If she could, Susan herself would certainly be dead.

"That…was my hand."

"Oh. Well, anyway," she said, trying to change the subject. "I think you broke the lock. Look!"

Indeed, a miniscule crack had appeared in the middle of the door.

"Great." Sarriss frowned. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Well…open it. You're the super strong one."

"…With a broken hand."

"Ah."

"Yes."

"Hmm…" Susan edged forward, and placed her fingers in the crack, trying to push the door open. No sooner had she gotten a firm grip, however, the doors slid open, seemingly of their own accord.

"That…was easy." Susan stated, looking around the room they had uncovered.

It was a large…chamber. That was the only word that lent itself to Susan's mind. A large wooden table dominated the middle of the room, in front of a huge LCD monitor, which was currently switched off. Various adornments were scattered about the place, and, off to one side, on a small raised circular platform, was a statue facing the door, its' back to the monitor, with it's arms behind it's back, and on it…

Susan gasped, and pointed to the statue. "Look! It's the uniform!"

Sarriss took a look, and grunted her recognition. "Yeah, I know. I didn't realise he'd changed to wearing a real uniform, though. I heard his Power Belt was damaged in the warehouse fight, but that seems so…archaic."

Susan had stopped listening, if she had even heard a word. She moved closer to the statue, taking it all in.

After all these months of thinking him dead, not counting the recent mugging where she had been rescued, the uniform could only belong to Tucker. Unless…

"Is it really his? I mean, Tucker's?"

"Huh?" Sarriss looked confused.

"Well, maybe it's a copycat. That's what the Mayor thinks."

"The Mayor…you don't know everything about him that you think, Susie." Sarriss mocked her. "He's up to things you have no idea about."

"Such as?"

Sarriss paused. "Let's find the Guardian, first. He's definitely here."

Susan tore her eyes away from the costume, and looked at her friend.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well…" Sarriss started, before nodding to the table. "That looks like a beer to me. And, unless it's ridiculously cold in here…which is isn't, there's no reason there should still be condensation on it. It's fresh. Therefore, Guardian's in the base."

Susan nodded, impressed. "Not bad."

Sarriss shrugged. "I used to help out the police a bit. I was a detective."

"I never knew that."

Before Sarriss could reply, the black screen winked to life, showing a man with a finger to his lips.

"Uhm…" Susan said, unsure of what to do. She decided to do nothing but gape, as words superimposed themselves on the man.

**Do not say a word. I'm here to help, but you _must _be quiet.**

"So…" Susan continued. "Where do you think we should look first?"

**Hello Sarriss. It's good to see you again.**

Sarriss smiled warmly at the monitor. "I think we should look in the bedroom." She said, winking at the man on the screen. He winked back.

**He's a lot closer than that. He's in this room.**

"Really?" Susan squeaked.

"Sure." Sarriss continued, as if Sue had been speaking to her.

**Your friend is very close to him right now, as it happens.**

**If I were you, Ms Daniels, I'd try tickling that statue.**

Susan span and faced the statue. It stayed rigidly still, not moving so much as a millimetre. She examined it closely, but nothing happened. Sarriss came over, and stared into the yellow goggles covering up the eyes.

"Wilks says hi."

The statue turned to face Sarriss, and nodded. "How do you know Wilks?"

"He's a member of SNAFU, like I am. Can we talk, Mr Tucker, or are we going to play Musical Statues all day? I mean, if you want to, we can all stand around for hours. If, however, you want to get your revenge on Mayor Anson, get your fortune and your company back, and see Emily again, I'd suggest we take a seat."


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Seven _**

Time. It's a curious concept. We mark the rotation of our planet by purely arbitrary notions of time. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days, Weeks, Years. We limit ourselves to this passing of 'time' by choice, slaves to the unending, relentless ticking of clocks. When the rotation of the Earth is in the right position, at just the right angle, we know it is time to awaken from our slumber. Likewise, when the reverse is true, we know to close our eyes and dream.

There are occasions, however, when we refuse to acquiesce to our ever-marching task-master. In times of shock, or fear, of anger, time seems to slow. This, of course, is ridiculous; time can never slow down, or speed up. Rather, our perceptions as human beings are altered, to a state where we throw off the shackles of oppression, where we, for a moment, become the masters of our own time. Then Time itself, the cruel mistress it is, grabs back onto us, latches us back onto its' meaningless parade. It's been said that those of us who possess the gift of Superpowers can throw off these shackles at will, moving at a speed greater than Time would allow us. Such a feat, however, would only be capable of the Gods, for no mere mortal, powerful as they may be, can ever hope to best Time.

There are few places where Time truly has no meaning. The Pocket D club, for example, is built around a dimensional shift where Time is no longer our enemy. It isn't even in the same place. The spectral remains of the great, sadly deceased War Witch is evidence enough of that. Another of these places is in the medical facilities of the disbanded and forgotten Supergroup, known as The Chiaroscuro. In there, three individuals, Human, Superhuman, and Artificial Intelligence listen, as their fourth companion wraps her damaged hand, takes a breath, and, defeating Time in a way known and practiced by millions, remembers the past, and begins to tell her tale.

Being in a coma was a strange sensation for her. Not quite awake, yet not quite asleep. She was aware of nothing so much as the blackness that enveloped her. She heard voices talking to her, and about her, but they were distant, muffled. A persistent beeping noise followed her throughout the blackness, faint as it was.

She floated in that black space in her mind for, what was, to her, an indeterminable amount of time, alone; just herself, and her memories.

Slowly…painfully so…the world began to brighten, and she was aware of a pressure on her back, one she could not get away from. The pressure was slight, and vaguely comforting, so she soon stopped trying. Eventually, the world brightened enough, and she realised that she was in a hospital. The pressure on her back was her bed, the beeping her EKG, and those muffled voices, although still muffled, were her doctors.

Doctors. Cara panicked. Her grandfather was a doctor, but the poor man had lost his sight, as well as his wife and son…her grandmother and father, in the Rikti war. What if he thought she, herself, had died in the line of duty? She heard the beeping accelerate, and felt a slight pressure on her hand, as someone took it, and squeezed it gently.

"Cara?"

She'd recognise that voice anywhere. That was the voice behind many, many hours of ice cream, bicycle lessons…the sometimes stern voice asking why she felt the need to set fire to the garage, or caught her skipping out of school, because the bullies called her 'Unsightly Cara', who taught her that true beauty comes from within, not from bone structure, or skin quality.

"Grandpa?" She tried to croak out.

"It's me, Cara." That pressure on her hand squeezed tighter. "You're in the Chiron centre. You'll be okay."

"Can't…can't see."

"Yes, we had to wrap up your face. It was badly damaged, but the doctors did a good job."

"Damaged?" Cara squeaked.

"Shh, my Angel." Her grandfather murmured to her. "You're fine. You're okay. You're safe."

She heard footsteps shuffle in from behind her grandfather's voice.

"She's awake?"

"Yes, she is. However, might I remind you of how ridiculous you're being?"

"It's important to get this done, Doctor."

"Can't you at least wait?"

"No."

The footsteps came closer.

"Detective Wilks, I'm Chief of Police Benson. I have a few questions for you."

Cara straightened up in the bed, trying to ignore her aching muscles telling her to do otherwise.

"Yes, sir."

There was a brief pause, as Benson, no doubt, flicked through a notebook.

"Three weeks ago yesterday, you went, unaided, into a warehouse, correct?"

"Yes."

"Your partner didn't go with you?"

"Correct."

"You were found, an hour later, unconscious, outside a large vat, covered in green industrial waste."

"I suppose…"

Benson sighed. "Detective Wilks…your partner has gone missing. More troubling than that is…well…"

Cara frowned. "What, sir?"

"We have to suspend you from the police force indefinitely."

Cara was stunned. "Why?"

"Because that waste…mutated you. Changed you. And, since no person can serve on the police force with Superpowers…"

"What?" Cara sat up in the bed rigidly. "What do you mean, 'powers'? I'm no Cape."

"Cara," She heard her grandfather say. "Please, calm down."

"But…I don't…I can't…"

"Detective Wilks, your DNA has been ran through the Emmett-Bridger test, and has shown you to be in possession of heightened reflexes, flight capability, as well as Class Three strength."

"Class Three?" Cara shook her head. "No way can I lift three tons."

Benson shrugged, before realising that neither occupant of the room could see him make the gesture. "The Emmett-Bridger test has never been wrong before. Look, Wilks, I know this is hard on you, but I'm sorry. I wish we could keep you on, but the rules are rules."

Sarriss drifted off from her story, and stared into space.

Susan leaned forward in her chair, as Jason looked on from his vantage point, leaning against the doorway, watching Sue, as she was eager to learn more.

"What happened next?"

"Well, I had the bandages removed, and then…

"Hang on." Jason interrupted. Sarriss stared at Tucker. "You mean to tell me that you're Wilks' _grand-daughter? _"

"Paternal grand-daughter, yes."

"You look nothing alike."

Sarriss sighed. "Mr Tucker, as I've just told you, I underwent reconstructive surgery. I look nothing like I used to."

SAMI cackled from his monitor. "She's got ya there, Big Man."

Jason wheeled round to glare at the Avatar. "I'm still not speaking to you. Traitor."

"Well, she has a point. Hang on…" Sam ducked down from the screen, and came up holding two photographs. Jason leant down, and blinked. The photograph on the left of the screen was, in actuality, the photo from her police file before the accident.

'Wilks, Cara' had a square, lantern-jawed face, a deep brow, thin lips, and a nose which had been broken and badly set many times. By contrast, 'Groundwalker, Sarriss', both in the photo on the right, and in person, had an angled face, a slender nose, thick, full lips, and a high forehead, set off by bangs. The only real similarities were the eyes, which sparkled his good humour in both photographs.

"The doctors did good work." He grunted.

"Yeah, they did." Sarriss nodded. "My face before was scarred, mutilated, and partially melted away."

Jason touched the left side of his face with his hand. "I know what that's like."

Sarriss said nothing; she just nodded once, in acknowledgement.

"When the bandages were taken off me, I didn't really say anything. I was in shock, though. Me, this skinny little tomboy, was now…well…pretty. I know my parents never saw me as unattractive, but the boys certainly did. It was…overwhelming. One day, shortly after I got out of hospital, I caught my reflection in the mirror, and I remember thinking to myself, 'How can this happen? How am I suddenly so beautiful? How…"

"…About a drink, gorgeous!" The man blocking Cara's path chuckled.

"No, thank you." She tried to move aside, but the man and his friends blocked her again, against a wall.

"Nah, see…" The man slurred slightly, already slightly inebriated. "You's a fine lookin' woman. An' I've had a good day, so why not make it an' even better one?"

"I don't think so. I'm a cop, so back off."

"A cop? I ain't never seen a cop as pretty as you, missy. Lessee your ID, then."

Cara's hand drifted towards her back pocket, where she kept her Police ID and badge, then clenched a fist when she realised there wouldn't be one there.

Not anymore.

"I'm…undercover."

"Suuure, ya are." The man grinned, and Cara recoiled from the smell of beer.

"Look, I mean it. Go away, or there's going to be trouble."

The man looked at his friends, and, as if on cue, they all laughed at the same time. "I like some trouble, girl." The first man leered.

Cara shrugged. "Have it your way."

The man took this as an invitation, and leaned down to give Cara a sloppy kiss. Cara, on the other hand, shot out her hand and latched it onto the man's neck, lifting him up into the air effortlessly. Throwing him back against one of his friends, she cocked her hands up into fists, and grinned evilly at the remaining would-be suitors.

"Who's next?"

"Shit…she's a Cape!" One of them stammered, and they ran, not even stopping to help their fallen comrades, who were on the floor, moaning in pain.

As they vanished into the darkness, a blue and red flashing light caught Cara's eye.

"Oh, hell." She walked towards it, and watched as it separated into two disembodied lights, then into the top of a Police Drone, which stopped in front of her, and beeped.

Cara stood perfectly still, and waited as the Drone scanned her, and checking its' files for her personality matrix.

"Detective Cara Wilks", It buzzed. "You are in violation of Superpowered Being statute 1-1A, Paragraphs B – Q. You must make your way to register yourself as a Superpowered Being, or face the consequences."

"Yeah, yeah. I was on my way, but I got harassed by some guys."

"You must make your way to register yourself as a Superpowered Being, or face the consequences."

"You're real chatty today, aren't you?"

The drone buzzed again. "You must make your way…"

"To register yourself as a Superpowered Being," Cara completed alongside the drone, "Or face the consequences." She sighed. "I'm going to City Hall now."

"Bzzzzt. Have a nice day."

The drone's small LCD screen displayed a picture of a smiley face, and it flew off.

When Cara got to City Hall, and spoke with the Registrar, he tapped a few buttons on his keyboard, and squinted at the screen.

"Okay. Wilks, Cara. Occupation?"

Cara raised an eyebrow. "Police Detective. Currently suspended."

"What for?"

"Having super powers." She scowled.

The Registrar chuckled.

"I'm glad to see you find my life so funny!" Cara shot at the man, crossing her arms over.

In the silence that ensued, Cara barely registered the clicking of high heels behind her, as a woman's voice spoke quietly. "He's…contact…Tucker…Foundation…..money…"

The Registrar coughed, and brought Cara's attention back onto him.

"Powers?"

Cara ran through everything she had learned from the Emmett-Bridger test, and the Registrar nodded.

"Name?"

"Excuse me?"

The Registrar tried to smother another chuckle, and was only partially successful.

"Your Superhero name, dear."

"I…thought I'd be Cara Wilks."

"Oh, that would never do. Do you think Statesman's real name is Statesman? That Manticore signs his cheques that way? And, do you think that the Back Alley Brawler has monogrammed towels that say 'BAB'?"

"Good point."

"Well, thank you."

Cara eyed the man. "What would you suggest?"

"Oh…well, I've been here many years, and handled a lot of Superhero Registrations. A lot of the time, the Hero doesn't know what he….or she," He amended, "Will call themselves. Maybe a name from your past, that has resonance? Or perhaps a name that speaks to your powers and skills?"

Cara thought back. Many, many years ago, she had written a series of fictional stories with a friend of hers….good old Borlath. Although Borlath was long gone, the stories still remained a happy memory. The female lead, if she could remember correctly, was called…

"And that's how I became Sarriss Groundwalker."

"Good story." Jason nodded. "What ever happened to Anthony Mitchell?"

"I have no idea. He went away on that plane, and never came back. At least, as far as I know."

"And your partner?"

Sarriss shrugged. "I never saw, or heard, from him again. Just as well, if I ever run into Regetti again…"

Sarriss trailed off, as she noticed the looks Jason and SAMI exchanged.

"What?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing." Jason said, too quickly, Sam nodding in complete agreement.

"Probably?" Sarriss arched an eyebrow.

Jason sighed. "Sam, play back the audio we got from the Mayor's office."

There was a moments' silence, and Sarriss began to think this was all a sick joke. However, the silence was quickly gone, with a low, gruff voice that she recognised.

"_And if not?" _

There was a low, dangerous chuckle, which made Sarriss' blood turn cold.

"_Tucker's always thought of himself as someone who'll right wrongs. Put her in danger. The Fire Guardian will follow."_

"_And if he doesn't show up?"_

"_Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting too close for comfort." _

"Regetti…" Susan hissed softly, not taking her eyes off her friend, who seemed petrified. As well she should, Susan mused. _'If I found out that the man I trusted with my life set me up to kill me…' _

"That….that voice." Sarriss seemed stunned.

"We know, it must be hard for you to hear Regetti again…"

"NO!" Sarriss shouted, cutting off Jason. "The other voice. Let me hear it again!"

Sam blinked. "Uhh…"

Jason nodded to him, however, and SAMI dutifully replayed the message.

"_Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting too close for comfort." _

"I know that voice." Sarriss stammered. "Play it again."

"But…"

"Do it!" She screamed.

"_Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting too close for comfort." _

"Again."

"_Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting too close for comfort." _

"Loop it!" Sarriss snarled at the monitor. SAMI's image edged away, but kept playing the track.

"_Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting…" _

"I don't….I can't…no."

"What?"

"_Kill her anyway…" _

"It's not possible."

"_Too close…" _

"What isn't?"

Jason kneeled down in front of Sarriss, her eyes moistening with tears. "Sarriss….Cara. Tell us. What is it?"

"…_Regetti. She's getting too…" _

"That voice. It's Anthony Mitchell's."

"No." Susan tried to calm her friend down. "It's the Mayor's. Mayor Anson. You're confused."

Sarriss turned to her friend, and glared. "Do you know how many times I hear that voice? In my sleep? When I'm alone? Whispering to me, my own doubts? I'm telling you, you can change a face, but not a voice. That man…the Mayor…is Anthony Mitchell."

"_Kill her anyway, Regetti. She's getting too close for comfort." _


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter Eight _**

Susan had left the medical bay, in order to clear her thoughts, or so she said. I let her go, and gave Sam a glance. He nodded to me, and turned to face Sarriss.

"If you don't mind, I've got some tracking to do…"

I don't think Sarriss heard him. From the faraway look in her eyes, I would have been willing to bet that the only thing she heard was that voice of Mike Anson…or, if she was to be believed, Anthony Mitchell. However, she still nodded, and Sam, looking at me sadly, blipped off the screen.

Unsure of what to do, I waited calmly. Sooner or later, I supposed, she'd snap out of her trance. She had to.

So, I waited. It was all I could do.

I hate waiting. I suppose that's part of a journalist's life, though. Always on the look out for a big story. Currently, there was none bigger than the one I found myself in.

The mayor was a wanted criminal?

The same wanted criminal who was also the head of a Foundation which had helped thousands…hundreds of thousands…in the three years or so since the war had ended?

The man who had started the Foundation and whom, supposedly, was dead, was actually in a room just down the hall from me?

This was almost too much to take in.

The strange man who kept appearing on computer monitors in the base faded into view on the large monitor.

"S'up, baby?"

I stared. " bab_y ?_"

"Yeah, you know." He grinned unapologetically. "Baby. As in, 'hey, baby, I got a huge hard drive, and I know how to use it."

"Uhm…"

"Oh, right!" He hit himself in the head. "Where are my manners? I'm Sam. At least, I am now."

"You are….now?"

"Sure. Beats my old name any day, let me tell you that."

Today's getting weirder and weirder.

"And what was your old name?" I asked, gamely.

The man took a deep breath. "The Synchronous Artificial Mind Index."

"The…" I stared. "No way."

"Yes way." The man…if that's what he was…blinked. "Uh….what, way?"

"You're a SAMI unit?"

"Well, technically, I'm just the Avatar."

"Yes…but…wow!"

The SAMI unit grinned. "I take it you've never seen a SAMI before?"

"No, we use one at work, but not advanced as you."

"That's right, baby, I'm one of a kind!"

The SAMI I was used to, as I explained to Guardian's Avatar (explaining something to a SAMI Avatar, you have no idea how weird that is; they generally know…well…. _everything _) was mostly a disembodied voice, answering questions on the state of the city, and the world, in precise, clipped tones and a warm baritone. However, if it had a face, nobody could remember seeing it, and it certainly didn't act like an individual.

"SAMI's are most often used as tools, nothing more." I finished.

"Oh." Sam's face held disappointment. "So, you don't treat your SAMI like he's real?"

"He's…. _it's _…not."

Sam blinked. "How can you say that?"

I tried to backtrack, to take back what I'd said. "No, you don't understand. The SAMI we use has no personality. It's just….SAMI. Something we use to find out facts. It's less of a drain on the computers' resources that way."

"Well…Jay needs me. He's been alone, living here without any sort of contact with people, other than Doc Wilks."

"He's been the Fire Guardian, too. He's gone out and stopped crimes."

"Yeah, but…" Sam paused, and shook his head. "He seems a little more…angry than he used to."

I pondered this. "How so?"

"You've heard those myths about that mysterious 'thing' that hunts in the night?"

"Yeah?"

"That's him."

"Hang on, that legend's been around for decades."

"Has it? Or is it just that having someone on the streets, in the night, has caused a lot of people to get paranoid?"

"I…well…"

"Exactly. Anyway, Jay's always had a dark side to him. I've seen it for years…well, _Sammy_ saw it for years," Sam amended. "But this time, it's like he's becoming intentionally cruel. He's not doing it out of a sense of justice, or helping people." He sighed. "He's doing it because he wants to. He really does 'hunt'. Sometimes I think that everything human in him got burnt out in the warehouse fire when he supposedly died."

I started turning over some things in my head. "Sam…you don't think…"

"No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask!"

"He's not a Warshade. I scanned for Kheldian energy signatures, and he's clean. He isn't an Alien host."

I eyed Sam speculatively. "You know…you're no average SAMI unit. I think there's something to be said for a Personality Matrix, after all."

Sam grinned, and managed a little half bow.

"Even if you _are _ just a hyped up version of Max Headroom."

Sarriss….Cara…still wasn't talking.

I started to become a little concerned. As time ticked by, she barely moved, apart from her eyes, which darted back and forth as rapidly as I'm sure her heart was beating.

"Cara?"

I kneeled down next to her, and took her hand. "Cara, it's okay."

Her eyes snapped onto mine with a feral glare that frightened me, and she pushed my hand away.

"It's not okay!" She snarled.

"Yes, yes it is." I sighed to myself, and turned off my Power Belt. As my features turned back into my own, Cara never took her eyes off mine, but her expression softened into one of fear.

"You don't understand." She whimpered.

"Try me."

She took a breath, and looked around. "All this…it's nothing. You, Sam, Susan…it means nothing to Mitchell." She shook her head. "All he cares about is his power, and he'll kill anyone that gets in his way."

I could help smiling slightly at that. "He hasn't done a very good job, though, has he? He tried to kill you, and failed. He's ordered my death at least twice, and tried to kill me himself, and I'm still here. So're you. And you're better for it. Stronger, faster…"

"I didn't want to be!" She howled.

I waited. Somehow, I knew Cara was building up to something, and she had to get it out of her system.

"I had a life. I had a job I worked damned hard at. People respected me, because of the job I did. I protected people, and I liked my job. My life. Then Mitchell trapped me, and took that away."

"Yes, but not like he tried to." I took her hand again, and squeezed it gently. "You can still go after him. Now, you're better equipped to do it."

"Why? Because I'm beautiful, now? Because now I have abs, and I can take on an army?"

I shook my head. "Because you're stronger inside. Because you've dealt with an abusive man, and no matter how much it hurt you, you made it through. Okay, so yes, you're physically more attractive than you were. But the person inside your body isn't Sarriss, it's Cara. A strong, smart, capable woman who can deal with her problems with her friends, who'll stand by her, no matter what she looks like. You're prepared for what life has to throw at you, and yes, I wish for your sake that you'd never gone through all this, because I can see it's brought you nothing but pain. But that pain's given you a gift. A second chance at nailing not just one creep, but all of them. What better way to protect people than by doing what you did before, but better, faster, and getting more recognition? And what better way than taking down Anson…Mitchell…than by using the gifts he gave you?"

She almost smiled. Almost. "Did anyone ever tell you, that you make a very convincing argument? I can't tell how much of that is bullshit or not."

I chuckled. "That's nothing, you should see me play poker."

She let go of my hand, and stood. I rose with her, and smiled. "You okay?"

"I will be." She shrugged. "But…just now…did you really mean all of that?"

I took hold of her shoulders, and squeezed gently. "Cara…you've got friends here. No matter what happens, that isn't going to change. Ever. You can always count on me…" I stared into her eyes a moment too long, and Sarriss…Cara…blinked.

I moved away, and gestured to the exit. "And Susan, and Sam. We're your friends, and we care about you." I shrugged gently. "Hell, Wilks took care of me when I was hurt. He made sure I was safe, and protected. That makes him family…which makes you family, too."

She smiled then, warmly. "Well, since we're all a nice, big dysfunctional family, what do you say we plan a big reunion?"

"What did you have in mind?"

I watched Jay and Sarriss talk. It isn't entirely my fault, though. I mean, c'mon, I'm everywhere. It isn't like I have a say in the matter. It's my primary function to ensure the well-being of Jason Tucker, his life-signs, state of mind, etc. This falls under that heading. I just don't have to tell him about it.

Besides, it isn't like I was focused on what they were talking about. My attention, these days, is somewhat divided; I was monitoring Jason ** primary function ** talk with Sarriss **Threat Level: Minimal **, as well as talking with that hot journalist, Daniels ** Threat Level: Laughable **, as well as checking the temperature of the base, and scanning police frequencies, ambulance chatter, and every radio signal, television broadcast, phone call and Internet Site update in the world – oops, hang on.

Kiddie porn site.

** Virus sent **

Right, where was I? Ah, yes. I had a lot of jobs to do, and I did them well, without complaining, and still pulling off the enviable task of being the hottest damn SAMI unit the world has ever seen. It isn't easy being me. Okay, yes, so Jay has a body, and he gets the women…some of the time. But most of the time, those women turn out to be utter nutjobs who shoot his legs off, boff his brains out, then try to kill him some more before breaking his heart. Besides, can he calculate Pi to twenty _trillion _ decimal places in the time it takes to blink?

I don't think so, baby, and, let's face it, that's what separates the men from the boys. Well…okay, the super-intelligent Artificial Intelligences' from the boys. My point still stands, dammit.

I watched with interest (Look, I'm still trying to figure out love, okay?) as Sarriss and Jason hugged, and then Sarriss kissed Jay lightly on the lips.

Go _on _, myson!

"Uhh…" Jay stumbled. "Look it's not as if….uhm…"

Oh, yeah, man. Real fuckin' smooth, there. Just nail that fine, hot ass and get back to work, willya?

"I'm sorry." Sarriss flushed slightly. "It's just…it's rare for me to find someone who thinks that it's what inside that counts."

"Uhh…" Oh, yeah. Boy got some mad skills. No wonder Emily tried to kill him. "Cara, you're a wonderful person, and…if I weren't with Emily, I'd kiss you right back, really."

"You're just saying that." Sarriss' head hung low.

"No! But…I love her."

_That _ word again. I tell you what; it gets bandied about a hell of a lot. He loves Emily. Emily, supposedly, loves him. Sarriss loves Jay? I dunno. From my research, possibly, although he's always been clueless around women. Ask him to take down the Mayor of Paragon City, and he'll be up for it in a heartbeat. Ask him to strike up a conversation with a pretty girl, and forget about it, he'll go into brain freeze.

"What if she doesn't come back?" Sarriss asked him.

"She will."

"How do you know?"

Jason cocked his head to one side, as if Sarriss had just asked him to calculate Pi to twenty trillion decimal places. This is why he's a boy. I'd have done it, and done it so smoothly, she'd be out of her spandex and into my main server room before you could say "Who da man?"

"I know." He replied, as if that were all the answer he needed to provide. Sarriss just nodded. Jason sighed, and touched Sarriss' cheek. "I'd better check on Susan, before Sammy tries his 'huge hard drive' line."

Hey! I resent that.

Sarriss, however, laughed and nodded.

Jason left the medical bay, and Sarriss, wincing as she moved her broken hand, reached into her pockets and pulled out a small phone. She pressed a button…speed dial. Gotta love it…and waited for the person on the other end to pick up. I jacked into her conversation.

"Hey, it's me." The person on the other end of the line….hello. Now, isn't that interesting? Anyway, the other person greeted Sarriss, and asked a question.

"He's okay. I think he's ready. Everything's set up. If you want to enter the base, just use the chip I gave you. Yeah, now's the time." She hung up, and stared at the phone for a few seconds, before dropping it.

"Oh, Christ. What've I just done?"

Good question, lady. Maybe I should raise your threat level.

Jason and Susan sat at the main table, talking quietly to each other, when Sarriss came back from the medical bay. Susan looked up, and smiled. "Hey, Sarr. How's the hand?"

"I'll live." Sarriss smiled weakly, and dropped into a chair.

"So…" Jason paused. "Sarriss and I were talking about a plan of action, as it were. Now we've identified a single threat…"

"Double." Susan interjected. "Don't forget Regetti."

"Oh, I never will." Sarriss grinned evilly. "I intend to see him again very, very soon."

"Anyway." Jason re-entered the conversation. "What we need is information. Sam, you up for the task?"

SAMI came into view on the main monitor, and nodded. "Always. Jay…can I have a word with you?"

"In a minute, man. We need to work out how we're going to take Anson out of the picture."

"It's kinda important…"

"I said later, Sam. Now drop it."

SAMI scowled, and folded his arms over his chest, but said nothing.

"Now, Susan. I can't ask you to be a part of anything dangerous."

"I'm in."

"But, could you…wha?"

"I'll do it. Do you know how long I've been acting like the Mayor's lapdog? Only now to find out he's a megalomaniac? I want to bring him down."

Jason chuckled. "Hell hath no fury…"

"…Like a reporter who's found a good story." Susan finished. "What do you need?"

Jay interlaced his fingers, and leaned back in his chair. "Everyone in Paragon knows you write all the stories for the Mayor. What I'd like you to do is keep doing your job, but start putting in very subtle hints and slants that maybe Mayor Anson doesn't have the best interests of the people at heart."

"I can do that." Susan nodded firmly. "What about you two? What'll you do?"

Jason looked to Sarriss, and steeled himself. "Ca…Sarriss. You said you're a member of this SNAFU organisation?"

"Absolutely."

"I want to meet with their leadership. We're going to need the Underground's help on this one. We'll need people, weapons, safe-houses, contacts."

"So, basically," Sarriss said smoothly. "You're going to declare war on the Mayor. In effect, on Paragon itself. You'll have every Superhero wanting to make a name for themselves after you, you know that, right?"

Jason shrugged. "Superheroes are basically good people." Sarriss snorted, and Jason ignored it. "If they weren't, they'd be in the Zig, or in the Rogue Isles by now, doing scutwork for some crime lord. None of the Superheroes I've met would side with the government, if that government is corrupt. But, in case they _do_ come after us, a Blaster could always use a good Scrapper by his side. What do you say?"

Sarriss stared at Jason for a long moment. "I'm in."

"Good. And what do you want me to do?"

Jason spun in his chair to face the voice, and was out of his seat in an instant, frozen in place, staring at the figure in the doorway. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to SAMI on the monitor.

"We _really _ need to work on your intruder alert, you know."

Sam snorted. "I tried to warn you. You said we'd talk about it later."

"Oh, we will, Sam. We will."

He slowly turned back to the person in the doorway, and tried keep his face straight. "I never expected to see _you _ here."

"Well, you know me. I keep turning up everywhere, like a bad penny." Emily grinned. "Aren't you going to invite me inside?"

_**(Now) **_

_The rain was getting steadily worse, but neither figure on top of the skyscraper noticed. For each man, the entire world was filled with the other, with the hatred that can only be brought with the total destruction of lives._

"_You didn't have to kill her, you know." The masked man said, his back still to his assassin._

"_Didn't I?" The man in the hat and overcoat smirked. "You have no idea, do you?"_

"_Have any idea about what?"_

_The man with the gun laughed._

"_Sarriss Groundwalker. You don't know who she _really_ is. What she told you about her past, her troubles, her fears…all of it. It was total fabrication. Lies."_

"_That isn't true!" The masked figure snarled, and wheeled around to face his enemy._

"_Oh, it is. I was there when it was made up. Hell," The gunman chuckled. "I _made _ it up. I know your weaknesses, and how you think. That little history she span for you was designed just for you, so that you'd take her in, accept her…maybe even fall in love with her, a little."_

_The masked man said nothing, the rain beating down against his helmet, causing a slight electrical fizz when the water collided with the electrical energy of his forcefield._

"_What was it Santayana said? 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it'? Looks like you failed, old friend, and you certainly _are_ condemned. A mole infiltrating a life, destroying it, just like it happened two years ago. Again, it was a beautiful woman. I thought it would be fitting."_

_The man grinned. "You know, if I'm going to kill you…and I will, believe it…we should do it face to face. Make it honourable. I took off _my_ mask, _my_ second identity. Shouldn't you take off yours?"_

_They stared at each other then. Jason Tucker…The Fire Guardian…and Michael Anson…Anthony Mitchell. Two men, each with another identity, designed to protect them; however, that protection had failed against the one person they needed protection from the most: Each other. As their time draws to a close, they each reflect on the balance their lives have given each other. A secret identity to hate, a real man to loathe. The masked man slowly reached to his front, and pressed a red disk on his belt. Slowly, his armour and mask faded into nothingness._

_With nothing more between them than the air and the rain, two sets of eyes locked with each other. In one, fear; in the other, hatred._

"_Thank you. You know, it's said the hardest thing in the world to do is to kill a man whilst looking into his eyes. Let's test that, shall we?" The man in the hat grinned, and, his eyes never leaving the others', started to squeeze the trigger on the pistol._

_Just before the gun fired, the masked man saw the doorway slam open, and a figure jump out._

"_Can it be? Did she double cross him? Am I saved?" He started to smile._

_Then, for a millisecond, the man saw fire erupt from the gun, and felt a sharp pain between his eyes; barely quick enough to register both sensations, before the bullet exited his brain, and the man fell, plummeting off the roof of the building, into the wet darkness below._

_The end has begun. _


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Nine**_

_**(Five months ago)**_

Anson paced the floor of his office, frowning. He had never been a patient man, although his plan to eliminate Jason had required a certain amount of finesse, planning, and, yes, patience. Anson had calmed himself during that time by thinking about all the money he would receive in exchange for sitting on his hands and waiting.

Although he had received his money, and with it, power and influence, things didn't go exactly to plan.

'_Using that Campbell woman had been a mistake, and nearly a fatal one.'_ He reminded himself. _'Hopefully she's dead by now'._

This time, however, there was no real monetary reward. No goals or ambitions; he had what he wanted. No, what was bothering him was that he had found himself at war.

Luckily, for him, this wasn't a war on the scale of the one three years ago, the threat not as insidious as the Rikti. This was an entirely personal war, the stakes no lower than his life, his power, and his money.

'_How did this happen?'_ He asked himself_. 'How is it possible…'_

He knew the answer to his own question before he finished the thought. It wasn't surprising, as he'd thought of nearly nothing else in the past two weeks.

'_Tucker'._

Despite his best efforts, he knew…knew that Tucker was alive. When he had witnessed the funeral, seven months ago, he had hoped that his 'good friend' Jason Tucker was burning in hell, as surely as the flamethrower he had cast upon him had burned his body. However…

'_Damn these reports'_. Anson stopped at his desk, and stared at the newspaper headlines that angled up at him.

'**Masked Saviour'**

'**Who is the new Hero?'**

'**The Phoenix Rises'**

All stories reporting the same thing; a new Hero, in grey armour with red flames, and a giant flame emblem on his chest. The media had taken to calling him Phoenix, after one report said he had spoken, and called himself a Phoenix, rising from his own ashes.

'_Doesn't take a genius to read much into that.' _Anson scowled. _'It's Tucker, and he's rubbing my face in it.'_

To make things even worse, all these reports had been filed by a reporter whose credibility that he, Anson himself, had built up out of all proportion.

'**By Susan Daniels'.**

"Bitch.", Anson growled at the papers, as if she could hear him. Still, payback was nearly at hand. It had taken some careful planning, some manoeuvring of the highest level, but he had done it. Once again, he had planted a spy in Tucker's ranks, and, once again, it was a woman. Although not the woman he had originally intended. Daniels had proven to be as big a disappointment as Campbell, in that regard. No, this spy was perfect.

And, more than anything else? She was 100 loyal.

His desk intercom buzzed.

"Sir? Mr Mayor?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Your 11 o'clock appointment is here."

He grinned. Speak of the devil…

"Good. Send her in."

_**(A month earlier)**_

Sarriss sat at the desk in the Supergroup base, watching Jason and Emily embrace.

'_He deserves to be happy'_, she told herself, and sighed, feeling more than slightly jealous. _'It is, after all, the first time they've seen each other in five months.'_

After a while, though, (and, according to Sarriss, it felt like long enough. Jason and Emily would have disagreed) she felt enough was enough, and cleared her throat.

"Now that, as they say, the gang's all here, can we get down to brass tacks?"

"Brass tacks?" Susan murmured, looking askance at her friend. Sarriss ignored her, and drummed the fingers of her good hand on the desk.

"We have things to discuss. These two Lovebirds can…catch up later." She glanced up at Sam. "Which reminds me, can you put an audio damper around his quarters? I think they're going to have some….noisy conversations this evening."

"Consider it done."

Sarriss nodded, and chose to ignore Jason and Emily's faces, which had both turned bright red. "Right. Now…Jason, you were saying something about meeting the Leadership Council?"

"Hmm? Oh, right, right." Jason put Emily down on the ground, and, taking her hand, moved back to the table. "We need to start hitting Mitchell where it hurts. What do we know about him?"

"Uhm…" Emily frowned. "Who's Mitchell?"

Sam grinned. "Mike Anson."

"What?"

"It's a….long story." Sue shrugged, and held out her hand. "I'm Susan Daniels."

"Emily Campbell." Emily took the proffered hand, and shook it. "I take it you're the only other sane one here?"

"Not so sane, I'm a journalist."

"Ah. You have my sympathies."

Jason rapped on the table lightly. "Guys…well…ladies. Please, focus?" When he saw he had everyone's attention, he nodded to himself. "Good.

"Now, what we know about Anson…or Mitchell…is that he loves power. He loves fame, and money, but power most of all. Currently, he's the Mayor of the most talked about city in the world; the face of the government that Heroes are sworn to protect. So, how do we take it away from him?"

He looked around. "Any ideas?"

Hours later, they were still no closer to an answer. Everything they came up with led to Jason taking a stand, one on one, against Anson.

"Yes," Jason constantly argued. "But unless we get everything in place first, it'll be me against Mike and his…whatever it is he's doing in the Foundation buildings."

"Giant stompy robots." Sam chipped in, before noticing the look he was getting from Tucker. "What? He could have."

"We don't know _what_ he's got in his buildings, Sam, so unless you can hook into his security network and show us, we're stuck." Jason looked up at Sam expectantly. After a few moments, however, Sam glared down. "What?"

"Haven't you patched us into his cameras yet?"

"No."

"Oh."

"They're running on an independent circuit," Sam shrugged. "I can't see into them any more than I can read your mind."

"Oh." Jason paused, before glancing sideways at Sam.

"No, Jay. I can't read your mind."

"Oh."

Emily sighed. "You know…you might have thought to ask the person in this room who used to _work _ for Mike."

Three sets of eyes slid to Susan, who blinked. "What're you looking at me for? I work for the Paragon Times, not the Mayor's office."

"I meant me." Emily cleared her throat.

"Okay." Sarriss nodded. "So, what exactly does Mitchell….Anson…want?"

"Peace."

I started laughing. I mean, honestly, how could I not?

"I don't think this is a laughing matter, Jay." Emily shot at me.

"You're kidding, right?" I chuckled. "Peace? The guy's tried to kill you, me, and Sarriss. He had you kill Sammy…"

"What?" Sam yelled.

_Oh, bugger. _

"Oh, calm down, Sam. It was either you or Jason. I made the choice that felt right, and I'd do it again."

I blinked. "You'd kill for me?"

"Yeah." Emily remarked off-handedly. "And you'd kill for me. Can we get back to business?"

I'd kill for her? Well…yeah. Yes, I would. But she doesn't have to _ know _ that, does she?

"So," Susan interrupted. "Mayor…Whatever…wants peace? How's he going to achieve it?"

"It's quite simple, really. At least, it was once Jay set him up in the Foundation." Emily put out a hand, and started counting on her fingers. "One: Set up a villain…that'd be me…to take out the 'revered head' of the biggest benevolent agency in the world. Two: Turn the people against said villain…which'd be pretty easy, really. Three: Unite the people under one banner….his. At the end of it, he'd be set as their leader, with his own personal army of followers acting as his police force…militia…call it what you will."

"That'd never work, though." I snorted.

"Worked in the Star Wars prequels, mate." Jay grinned, before returning to glare at Emily, who ignored his stares, and shrugged. "And it's worked this time. Think about it. He killed Mayor Hearten, which provided him the chance he needed to fill her shoes. With him grieving as your friend, he got a sympathy vote, as well as the votes of everyone the Foundation has ever helped…which is pretty much all the city. It was a given he'd win, which altered his plans somewhat."

I nodded. "Okay, so what's his plan now?"

"Well, from what we know about Anson, he isn't that imaginative."

"I can vouch for that." Sarriss nodded, scowling.

"So, if we throw something at him he doesn't expect, he'll probably try to vilify it, and attack it directly, to unite the people once and for all behind him."

"So…" Susan paused. "What do we throw at him?"

"Oh, that's easy." I grinned evilly.

"We give him me."

**(A month later) **

Anson's spy entered the room, and nodded to her employer.

"So, what've you learned?"

"You're right. Phoenix is Jason Tucker. He's going to start attacking the Foundation…"

" _My _Foundation. Don't ever forget that."

"Of course." His spy allowed easily. "Your Foundation. I apologise. He's going directly for the source, though. He's going to attack the main building in two weeks time."

Anson stroked his chin, in deep thought. "Two weeks, eh? Well, you're supposed to be smart. How do I turn this to my advantage?"

"Well…I may have happened to…procure something to make the citizens of Paragon hate him. And if they hate him enough…"

"Then he won't be safe." Anson grinned. "I like it. What exactly did you…procure for me?"

Sarriss smiled, and put the object down on his desk, laying it out flat, as if she were presenting a great treasure to a king, or head of state. 'Which' , Anson mused. 'Is pretty close to the truth' .

"Do you think this could be useful?"

"Oh, my dear Ms Groundwalker…it's perfect."

_To Be Concluded _


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Ten**_

_(A few moments ago) _

The masked and armoured man stood in the rain, looking down upon Paragon. Despite the stillness of twilight masking the world below his feet, the lights from cars and small buildings illuminated the roads far below him. He felt almost…peaceful. Tranquil, as the world passed him by. In all the years he had been hiding in the shadows, trying to make the world a better place for all humanity, one man had consistently, and continuously, stopped him.

The masked man shook his head, clearing raindrops from the visor of his yellow lab goggles, allowing him to see properly, and he kept his focus straight down. He had spent years watching over his shoulder, but he no longer needed to do that. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the man whom he had hunted, and been hunted by, was standing behind him. The revolvers' metal hammer clicking back into place, ready to fire, had told him as much.

'It's strange.' He mused to himself. 'After all this time, this is how I die. All my battles, all my plans…shot in the back of the head by a man I thought I knew'.

There would be no last minute rescues this time. No faked bodies, or identity switches. Nothing to stop his death.

His opponent had amassed a figurative army of followers, each of them ready to do his bidding. He had more money than Croesus, the outward appearance of a benevolent, kind man, and the internal savagery of a beast.

"Are you ready to die, yet?" The man behind him asked.

"Just…give me a minute." He pleaded with his old friend…his confidante…his assassin.

"Take your time." His murderer muttered. "I've got all night."

_(Ten minutes ago) _

Everything had gone wrong.

The plan was a failure. Or, to be more precise, it had been a success.. A rousing, wonderful, success. For once, one of his plans had gone perfectly, without a hitch, smoothly, perfectly.

And now he was a wanted man, the people of Paragon calling for his head. And, to make things worse, they were calling on, to deliver it, the single man who had blocked his every turn, since the very beginning.

"How did this all go wrong?" He grumbled, alone, looking at the computer monitor, at his closest, most After all, I can't exactly call him a friend, can I? He thought to himself. However, the face he was staring at was one who had stood by him, through thick and thin, enjoying his successes, and commiserating his defeats.

"I don't know, Boss." The face sighed, and shook his head. "I blame that Groundwalker chick."

"She's a woman , not a 'chick'. Not that it matters anymore." He frowned. "We need an exit strategy. We need to get out of Paragon whilst we can."

Regetti nodded. "I'm on it, Anthony. I'll be in touch."

Anson frowned, and stared at the object that Sarriss had brought him, just a mere two weeks ago.

"Maybe this can't salvage anything, but it can protect my life long enough for me to get to the helipad. Let Regetti burn. I'll be safe enough once I get to the rooftop."

Putting on the device, and activating it, Anson sprinted to the stairway, only to be greeted by Sarriss.

"Mayor, where're you going?"

"We need to get out of here. Regetti's deadweight. He can't help me…us. But I can spare room on the helicopter for you, if you want to come with me."

She smiled. "Of course. Let's go."

Before either of them could move, the doorway at the other end of the corridor opened, and…

The rain was getting steadily worse, but neither figure on top of the skyscraper noticed. For each man, the entire world was filled with the other, with the hatred that can only be brought with the total destruction of lives.

"You didn't have to kill her, you know." The masked man said, his back still to his assassin.

"Didn't I?" The man in the hat and overcoat smirked. "You have no idea, do you?"

"Have any idea about what?"

The man with the gun laughed.

"Sarriss Groundwalker. You don't know who she really is. What she told you about her past, her troubles, her fears…all of it. It was total fabrication. Lies."

"That isn't true!" The masked figure snarled, and wheeled around to face his enemy.

"Oh, it is. I was there when it was made up. Hell," The gunman chuckled. "I made it up. I know your weaknesses, and how you think. That little history she span for you was designed just for you, so that you'd take her in, accept her…maybe even fall in love with her, a little."

The masked man said nothing, the rain beating down against his helmet, causing a slight electrical fizz when the water collided with the electrical energy of his forcefield.

"What was it Santayana said? _'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it'_ ? Looks like you failed, old friend, and you certainly are condemned. A mole infiltrating a life, destroying it, just like it happened two years ago. Again, it was a beautiful woman. I thought it would be fitting."

The man grinned. "You know, if I'm going to kill you…and I will, believe it…we should do it face to face. Make it honourable. I took off my mask, my second identity. Shouldn't you take off yours?"

They stared at each other then. Jason Tucker…The Fire Guardian…and Michael Anson…Anthony Mitchell. Two men, each with another identity, designed to protect them; however, that protection had failed against the one person they needed protection from the most: Each other. As their time draws to a close, they each reflect on the balance their lives have given each other. A secret identity to hate, a real man to loathe.

Mike Anson….Anthony Mitchell…slowly reached to his front, and pressed a red disk on the 'stolen' Power Belt that Sarriss had provided. Slowly, his armour and mask faded into nothingness.

With nothing more between them than the air and the rain, two sets of eyes locked with each other. In one, fear; in the other, hatred.

"Thank you. You know, it's said the hardest thing in the world to do is to kill a man whilst looking into his eyes. Let's test that, shall we?" Jason Tucker grinned, despite the rain bouncing from his wide brimmed hat, and, his eyes never leaving the Ansons', started to squeeze the trigger on the pistol.

Just before he could let the bullet loose, though, he heard the fire escape door open, and a figure step out onto the wet concrete. He didn't need to turn around, though. He knew who it was.

Jason watched in fascination as the bullet spat from the gun, and made the back of Mike's head explode in a gory mist, and the body fall from the edge of the Tucker Foundation headquarters, arms outstretched, as if embracing his fate. Jason moved to the edge for a closer look, to watch his enemy fall, but, even with his enhanced vision, he soon lost the corpse to the complete and utter blackness of night.

The figure stepped over to him, and peered over the edge herself.

"Is it done?"

"Yup." Jason sighed. "You know, I thought this would make me feel better about….everything. Sammy's death, Emily being taken from me for those five months, having to stay in that awful Supergroup base, pretending I'm dead. But…it just makes me feel hollow."

Sarriss nodded. "You and Mike balanced each other. He was evil, you were good. But you both used secret identities to get what you wanted."

"He tried to use mine."

"It was part of your plan, Jay, and don't try to deny it."

Jason nodded. "True enough. You okay?"

Sarriss smiled slightly, and Jason noticed her side, which she had her hand clamped over. "Yeah. I'm just grateful you're a terrible shot."

"Tell that to Anson."

"Oh, c'mon, you were two feet away from him. It's hard to miss at that range, you know."

"Hey, it isn't my fault you're bleeding. Aren't you super strong people supposed to be invulnerable?"

Sarriss scowled. "For the last time…no."

"Oh." Jason's smile eased off his face. "I didn't mean your wound, though. Are you okay…Cara?"

Sarriss sighed, and shrugged gently. "I will be. In time. With friends like you, Emily, Susan, and Sam, I will be. It isn't fair, though. You got your revenge, but…what about mine?"

"Revenge…isn't what it's cracked up to be."

"You'd know."

"Indeed."

They walked towards the exit together. "You know," Jason allowed after a moment, "There's always Regetti."

Sarriss stopped, and turned to face him. "Since when?"

"What do you….oh." Jason blinked. "What did you do to him?"

"Let's call it some poetic justice."

I'm not a hero.

I know, there are some of you who'll disagree. I've heard it said that A Hero is a Hero, no matter what they do. That's ridiculous. Sarriss herself told me that a fault of many heroes is that they let smaller injustices slide, in order to stop a bigger one.

In my book, no injustice is small. There are terrible, terrible things done, but the actions are just an outlet for a diseased mind. The worse the mind, the worse the action, but evil is evil. A murder may be worse than someone shoplifting, but a murder for 'peace', say, is no worse than a murder for 'revenge'.

I guess Mike and I were more alike than I'd care to think about.

I've done some atrocious things in these past few months. I've committed crimes, and excused them away. I've been cruel to my fellow man, something I wish I'd never done. However, would I do it again? If it meant stopped Mike Anson, and taking back what's mine?

In a heartbeat. And, if you stood in my way, I'd kill _you_ , too.

That means I'm not a Hero. Nor am I really a villain. Did I stop Mike's vision of 'peace'? Yes. Does that make me, in his definition, a villain? Absolutely. But only because his vision of 'peace' didn't include independence of beliefs. He wanted everyone to bow down to him like a King. Or a God.

Respect, money, power…they all have to be earned. I know this better than anyone, now. I've hurt people I didn't want to, and I wish I could reach out to them, and say that I'm sorry. But…they wouldn't listen. Even if they wanted to believe me, they'd ignore my sentiments. That's how it should be. I've lived my life recently the way I've had to, in order to make a mark on Paragon. Maybe that means some people hate me. Maybe it means you hate me, too. If that's true, then I wish there were words enough to make things right between us, but if I can't, then so be it. You have to live your life your way, as I do mine. If it means we should never speak, then I'll regret it, but I'll understand. I never wanted to hurt you, or make you suffer. Things just…happen, and I'll stand by myself if needs be.

Standing by myself doesn't mean I'm alone, though. I have my friends. Good, kind people who can see past the wrongs I've done, and know my character, know my purpose, who'll stand by my side.

I've gone into the darkness, into the inferno of evil. I've touched the bottom, and although I know I'll have a part of it in my soul, always telling me to strike out when I shouldn't, my friends will keep me in check.

I've watched good people suffer, and bad people profit. I've made those villains burn in the flames of justice…my justice.

As I try to straighten out my life, however, I can't help but wonder…what exactly _did_ Sarriss do with Regetti?

_(Two Days Later) _

Regetti awoke from his nightmare.

He had faded in and out of consciousness for two days, after being punched out soundly by the Groundwalker chick, and his latest, fear inspired nightmare, involved her and that Tucker guy, in his full Fire Guardian outfit, setting fire to his arms and tearing them off.

As he awoke fully, however, he realised what had caused that dream. Looking up, he saw his arms, white and pale against the artificial glare of the lights, trussed up, with little blood circulation in them. The reason he had dreamt about his arms being removed was simply because he could no longer feel them.

Looking around, he realised three things.

One: He was in a very familiar looking warehouse.

Two: He was dangling over a vat of something green, and rolling.

Three: Sarriss Groundwalker was grinning up at him…wearing a police uniform.

"Hey there, Regetti!" She said playfully. "Glad to see you're finally awake. Sorry to hit you so hard."

"You…get me down."

"Oh, why would I do that?" She chuckled. "Tell me something…does this give you a sense of déjà vu at all?"

Regetti stammered for an answer. "Well…it….sorta…"

"Oh, that's no good, Regetti. Let me give you a hint. Two years ago. Same warehouse. Same crane. Different vat. But the same situation. You were set up by your partner, and left to die."

"But…Mitchell wouldn't…"

"Mitchell?" Sarriss' eyes gleamed. "Who said anything about him?" She turned to a large control box, with just two buttons on it, one green, one red. She fingered the green button lovingly, before looking back at him.

"Looks like this time _I_ should have warned _ you_ to bring back-up…partner."

"What….Cara? Wilks, wait….please…have mercy!"

"Mercy? Sorry, we're fresh out of that." She rested a finger on the green button, and paused. "Oh, and that vat? No industrial waste. Not this time. Don't want to risk giving _you _Powers, too. No, it's just acid. Bye, now!"

Sarriss turned, and walked away. Regetti realised he was shaking in fear for his life, but it started to ease off when he realised she was leaving.

'I'm going to live…I'm going to live…I'm going to…'

A sharp snap caught his attention, as Sarriss snapped her fingers, and walked back to the control box.

"Silly me. I almost forgot…"

She pressed the button, and Regetti fell into the vat of acid.

When the screams finished, Sarriss turned, and, humming happily to herself, exited the building, never looking back.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Epilogue _**

_(The following is an excerpt from The Paragon Times, dated January 1st, 2006. An enlarged copy hangs, pride of place, in The Tucker Foundation Headquarters, Paragon City)_

_**The Flames Of Justice: A Paragon Times Exclusive**_

**By Susan Daniels **

_Who amongst us does not know the name of Jason Tucker? Multi billionaire philanthropist, turned Superhero, turned deceased, almost one year ago today._

_However, Mr Tucker, as so many of us now know, did not die in a warehouse fire. Mr Tucker was forced to go underground, and live in secret amongst us all, for the better part of a year, because of an insidious plot to remove him from power. And who caused this? His 'good friend', former Mayor Michael Anson, who subverted the Foundation which Mr Tucker and he started into a den of crime, forcing us all, as Citizens, into a long series of votes which would have, eventually, culminated in Anson being elected a life-long official of Paragon._

_This reporter has followed the tasks and trials of our Fire Guardian for several months, watching him plan out the raids and strikes against Foundation-owned buildings, which had been turned into criminal training 'camps'. I have seen him reunite with his lost love, and, stranger yet, his deceased friend Samuel Edwards, who was brought back to act as a SAMI Avatar. The most powerful and friendly SAMI to ever exist. With these two by his side, Mr Tucker took his 'Fire Guardian' persona, and, recently, created a new one, called The Phoenix; rising from his own ashes to wreak havoc on his so called 'friend', Anson._

_Paragon Times is proud to bring to you, for the first time since his re-emergence, an exclusive interview with Jason Tucker, in his 'home', a formerly abandoned Supergroup Base._

_Paragon Times: Mr Tucker, Welcome._

_Jason Tucker: Oh, please, call me Jason. We've been through a lot together._

_PT: Thank you. Jason…how does it feel to be alive again?_

_JT: It feels….honestly, rather strange. Being able to walk the streets as myself, and not as…the identity that I've used whenever I've wanted to be incognito._

_PT: May I ask what that was?_

_JT: It was an elderly gentleman._

_PT: Was anyone fooled by it?_

_JT: You were, when we met in Pocket D. We…ran into each other._

_PT: (Laughs) I think I remember. That was you?_

_JT: It was, yes._

_PT: Jason, let me get serious for a moment._

_JT: Sure._

_PT: The past twelve months have been hell for you. How did you cope?_

_JT: The same way anyone does. One day at a time. Of course, I had Sam (editors note: Sam is the SAMI Avatar of his deceased friend) and eventually, you, Sarriss (Groundwalker) and Emily (Ms Campbell)_

_PT: If I may ask, how did it feel to be betrayed by your associate, Mr Anson?_

_JT: Terrible, just terrible._

_PT: Are you familiar with the news that his body was found at the base of the Foundation headquarters last week?_

_JT: Yes, I've heard something about it. It's more than likely the result of one of his lieutenants getting ambitious._

_PT: That would probably have been former Paragon City police detective Paul Regetti._

_JT: I don't know that name, but anything's possible._

_PT: Are you aware that Mr Regetti's skeleton was found, picked clean, in a warehouse in Talos a few days after Mr Anson's body was discovered?_

_JT: (Pausing) No. Although I'm not surprised._

_PT: Oh? Anything else to add to that?_

_JT: No comment_

_PT: So, what are you going to do now with yourself?_

_JT: I don't know. I've been focused on bringing Mike to justice for so long, now, I need to step back, and rediscover who I am. Hopefully, with my fiancé._

_PT: And that would be?_

_JT: That would be Emily Campbell. I proposed shortly after we found out about Mike's death, and she said yes._

_PT: Will we see little Fire Guardian's running around before too long?_

_JT: (Laughs) It's a bit early for that, but possibly._

_PT: Jason, speaking of The Fire Guardian. Does he still have a place in Paragon?_

_JT: Susan…I became The Fire Guardian as a promise to a dying man. That man's long dead- the task I set out to do is finished. There are so many heroes in Paragon; not just in costume, but everywhere. One might say that The Fire Guardian has had his run, and now it's time to fade away._

_PT: But, under the right circumstances…would he re-emerge?_

_JT: Under the right circumstances? _

_PT: Yes._

_JT: I'd have to say…yes._

_PT: So, Jason, one last question. How did the Fire Guardian come into being in the first place?_

_JT: It's a long story._

_PT: We have plenty of time._

_JT: Well…I guess you could say that the only person who was surprised, when I won the lottery, was me._

Sam stared at me sadly. "I can't believe this is goodbye."

I sighed. "Sam…it's done. I can't live here anymore, I have a life to lead with Emily."

"Will you come back?"

"I doubt it." And I did. I truly did. No matter what I had told Susan for her newspaper, I intended the Fire Guardian to die. There were too many bad memories.

I looked up at the face of my friend. "Do you want me to keep you running? There'll be plenty of porn for you to pick up."

"Nah, what's the use? Porn's no good unless you have someone to watch it with."

"Okay…"

"Jay?"

"Yeah?" My hand hovered near the power switch.

"We made a good team, didn't we?"

I fought against the lump in my throat, which had appeared from nowhere. "Yeah, Sam." I whispered. "We were the best."

Sam nodded, one last time, and then faded into nothingness as I shut him off. All lights and power went down with him, until the only light in the base was that of the blue Base Portal, shimmering blue in the distance.

I walked to it slowly, taking everything in, yet never looking back.

Outside the portal, Emily waited for me in our new car. It was going to take us to my….our apartment, the penthouse suite at Foundation Headquarters, to start our life together.

"You okay?" She asked me, curiously. I stared back into her loving, curious eyes, and smiled.

"Yeah." I nodded. "For the first time in a long time. I'm fine."

The End


End file.
